


The Guiding Star

by DiamondAbyss



Series: King, Prince and Priestess [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Action/Adventure, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Although Merlin is slightly curious, And she is ready to slay figuratively and literally, And work out some issues, Angst and fluff in the dreamworld, Arthur Knows About Merlin's Magic, Arthur and Merlin In Love, Arthur and Merlin reunite at the castle of Gedref, Arthur lifts the ban on magic, Being apart for some time, Blood Magic, Bonding, Bottom Merlin, But He Is Loyal to His Prince, But that's because they share the room, Camelot court intrigues are scathing, Complete, Druids are acting fishy, Enemies of the Old Religion Beware, Eventual Smut, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Gwaine buys some ale, He found out in the previous part of the fic, Initiation, Isle of the Blessed Cult, Kissing in the Dreamworld, M/M, Masturbation, Merlin Mounts The Dragon, Merlin and Arthur meet in the dreamworld, Merlin and Arthur miss each other like crazy, Merlin and Gwaine kick ass, Merlin has to fix a magic problem, Merlin saves Arthur for the 1000th time, Merlin sees Gwaine naked, Merlin the Dragonlord, Merlin worries about Arthur, Merthur - Freeform, Military, Morgana is back, Morgana is free, Morgana is now a high priestess kinda, Morgause saves Morgana from poison, Of course they are because Uther is dead, Original Character Death(s), POV Arthur, POV Gwen, POV King Ryence, POV Merlin, POV Morgana, POV Queen Andor (Prologue), Plot, Post-Season/Series 02, Romance, Strange Dreams, Sunstone and Moonstone magic, Supporting Character Death, The innkeeper said it was a fine brew, Top Arthur, slow build is slow
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-18
Updated: 2018-09-26
Packaged: 2019-02-03 21:47:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 86
Words: 266,908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12756813
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondAbyss/pseuds/DiamondAbyss
Summary: Uther Pengdragon is dead. King Ryence may sit the throne, but his claim will never be secure, because Prince Arthur has survived the carefully planned assassination. With nothing but vengeance in his mind and love for Merlin in his heart, Arthur threatens to undo all the alliances which brought about Uther's downfall as the prince is heading south to raise the rebellion.However, Arthur's not the only one to defy the new king. Fierce Uther's loyalists to the West of White Mountains, ruled by Uther's aunt, refuse to bend the knee in pursuit of their own goals. Meanwhile the druids join their forces with Morgause and Morgana who, having recovered from being poisoned by Merlin, is willing to take part in building a free kingdom.With Gaius under arrest, Gwen is left alone in the castle of the new king where every wrong step may be her last. In the summertime perfumed with love, conspiracy, vengeance, sorcery and war, it is up to Merlin to make the future of Albion hang in balance. However, the sunstone and moonstone magic leaves less and less time for young warlock, and he must hurry.Sequel to "The Great Design" fic





	1. PROLOGUE

**Author's Note:**

> for updates please check: 
> 
> https://twitter.com/diamond_abyss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter serves as a prologue to "The Guiding Star" and speaks of the last days of the druid dynasty during Uther's conquest. It explains how the druids have survived the war and lets us get a glimpse at Queen Andor, the last druid Queen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The prologue is set at the time of Uther's conquest of Camelot, which is about thirty-two years ago 
> 
> In order to understand this prologue, I suggest you first re-read Chapter 46 "Brief History of Uther's Conquest" from "The Great Design".
> 
> The plot returns to the present time ever since Chapter Two ^^

### Dragonlords Without Dragons

 

When it had been announced that the crystal of Neahtid had denied them the visions of what was to come, the council members looked as though they were robbed of the last piece of hope, of the last thing that was standing between them and the Usurper. _Fools_. _It now seems_ _there has been less than nothing between us and the usurper from the very start._

They had only gathered on the second day. Queen Andor felt their grief, the terrible pain of their loss, but she dared not allow the mourning song to rise inside her own soul. The matters of the world refused to slow down and freeze while they were mourning by silencing the fire flames. _We might have lost the battle, but the outcome of the war will be determined by the events that are still to unfold_ , of that Queen Andor was sure.

And yet when she met them with a calm and compassionate gaze, the pale, quiet and shocked women of her council, it dawned upon her how many mistakes they had made, how many mistakes her ancestors had made, all of the miscalculations and carefree choices passed from parents to children for hundreds of years. They presented such a vulnerable, powerless and defenseless sight that Queen Andor shook her head, trying to explain to herself what reasons the Druid Kings and Queens had had in the past to let their defense plans rest on nothing but dragons. _And now Vivienne and Isma have lost their brothers, and Elsa is widowed. My son. My only son._

“We shall call Balinor,” Isma said shrilly, looking a bit like a dragon herself. Grief made her features ugly with pain. “He is our only chance, our only hope, our only…”

“We counted on the dragonlords, yet in Brechfa they are now, slain, their bodies not returned to us and their children fatherless,” Queen Andor ruled calmly. “Balinor is the last dragonlord, and the youngest one, and I will not let _her_ take his life like…”

“Like you’ve let her take the lives of other dragonlords? Like you’ve let her take the life of my brother?” Isma’s voice was piercing the hall. “What am I supposed to tell Thulin? How can I explain to him what happened to his father? Why is that you care about Balinor so much, your highness, may I…”

“Isma,” Vivienne, always courteous, had a rather grumpy expression on her face, too. “You’re not the only woman in the castle to have lost a dragonlord brother. My brother died, too, and he had no children. I am now the last of my line. You have your son safe, unlike her highness, and your brother’s son lives, too.”

“For how long? For how long now?!” Isma shouted herself hoarse and stormed out of the room.

“You must forgive her, your highness,” Vivienne said and pressed her lips together, following Isma with a disapproving gaze.

“It’s expected,” the queen said casually, although she was seriously annoyed. “But in a moment as such, we must try and see past the loss that has clutched our hearts. The dragons may be dead, but not the dragonlords. You’ve said it loud and clear for all of us to hear. Prince Darian’s son lives, and so does Thulin, son of Dracos. Winybolt was too young to have a child. One line of dragonlords died with him. Luckily, Balinor is in Mercia, safely out of _her_ reach. But as we speak, the Usurper continues his war. Eofham will fall, they say. The Usurper’s eye will then turn to us.”

“And without the dragonlords, we are as good at defending ourselves as the leaves against the autumn wind,” Elsa mumbled darkly.

_I can understand her. She has two children._

“We still have magic,” Queen Andor frowned at the ceiling, not able to withstand an eye contact with Elsa.

“But the number of those who can do the required art of sorcery shouldn’t be overestimated, your highness,” Vivenne warned her. _As if I don’t realize it by myself_. “Our people are healers and foresters, and know a spell or two about the harvest. Druids gifted in the fighting magic, however,…”

“Would save us two or three days if we could train them, but the time, for now, is our foe. Besides, we can’t hope to possess magic that can help protect the whole kingdom, all my people, children, women, the elders… The crystal of Neahtid is silent and refuses even a glimpse of the future.”

“Because there is no future?” Elsa suggested in a muffled voice.

“There is _always_ future. Only that this time it is a lot more complicated, since the tides of destiny are in a wild dance, and various futures seem to be locked in this point of present.”

“And can you think of the future where you can invent magic that can shield the lot of your people from the swords of the Usurper?” Elsa pressed with a sinking feeling.

“I can’t. But the Disir can.”

The queen’s words changed everything: the two remaining members of the council rose to their feet.

“That is out of discussion!” Vivienne’s tone suggested there was nothing less than treason in Andor’s suggestion.

“Why? Who else do we turn to?” the queen, however, felt strong.

“They dwell in …”

“I know where they dwell, and I know that _she_ may talk to them, too. But the Disir is not part of her cult, no matter how hard she and those before her tried to make it look the other way.”

“Their allegiance…”

“Is pledged to the Triple Goddess herself.”

“So, what if it is? The Triple Goddess has shown through her followers that…”

“She has shown nothing!” the queen rose, too. _Why am I even talking to them if I have already made up my mind. But they are my people. Elsa is the widow of my son. Vivienne is the last of her line now_. “The Triple Goddess is in no way responsible for what those savages have turned their worshipping into. If I start murdering people in the name of the Triple Goddess tomorrow, that won’t make Triple Goddess a murderer. Isle of the Blessed is of people’s doing, not the will of the Goddess.”

“The Disir will know there has been little worship of the Triple Goddess in our lands,” Vivienne was so nervous it looked she was about to break her fingers.  

“Yet we’ll be humble enough to turn to The Triple Goddess for help. And I will travel there on my own, so that they see that Queen Andor herself has arrived. We may of course choose to become the prisoners to the Usurper as much as to our own sense of pride.”

“ _She_ will know,” Elsa said, and there at once was something wrong, something eerie in the air.

The evanescent flash of fear in Andor’s eyes couldn’t escape Vivienne’s attention.   

“ _She_ will know,” Vivienne repeated, despairingly.

The queen hesitated, but summoned the same calmness she had relied on during the short meeting.

“I have no reason to doubt it. She will most probably know.”

“The magic of these walls protects us against the Isle,” Elsa tried to reason a little longer. “Outside these walls…”

“I am still one of the most skilled sorceresses to ever walk this land. If she dares to attack me – which I doubt she will, for the Disir cave is a sacred place – I will put on a fight. Besides, do not forget: the Disir don’t bound my will. We’ll have the right to disobey their judgement. We may follow whatever way we decide, the way which fits our interests best.”

Queen Andor set forth long before daybreak. Nobody in the castle of Camelot or in the village had been permitted to light the torches for three days – an ancient tradition to honor the passing of a dragonlord (or of three dragonlords, like in their unbearably tragic case), and Queen Andor’s horse carried her into the velvet blackness of the young autumn’s night, a night so dark as though it was sewn with the grief that descended upon the kingdom.

However thick, darkness meant little to her, for when she had touched the horse with her left hand, she had neighed nervously and was on her hind legs at once. _I understand,_ Queen Andor tried to soothe the horse _, and I wish not cross paths with this place, too. Would that I could talk to somebody else… But I can not. The light of the crystal has faded._

_***_

The horse was running as fast as no ordinary animal; Queen Andor felt sorry for using that particular spell, but the matter was urgent, after all. The lush woods of Darkling, where the rustle of the owl’s wings reigned in the dead of the night, were left behind, and she recognized the ghost of the Castle of the Ancient Kings ahead. _The castle where the druid kings and queens used to reign before Sigan gained the power to build Camelot._   

It was a modest fortress, nothing compared to the enormousness of Camelot, and the traces of magic which once used to protect the ancient castle were now intangible even for a sorceress like her. So deep in thoughts was Queen Andor that she didn’t seem to follow the horse’s way, and when the wine-red dawn pierced the nightglow, she was already racing through the swollen farming lands of Western Camelot. She had galloped through the main roads of several villages, leaving nothing more than a whirlwind of dust to suggest she had been there, and it took her another hour or two to reach the biggest western village of Howden.

She had thanked the innkeeper for the water for her horse, but she didn’t stop in Howden for long. Every break on her way created a moment of stillness, and in that moment, doubts began to sprout, reaching for the softest and most tender strings of her heart. _Is it right? Is it wrong? Can the Disir be trusted? What if she is looking for me?_  Moreover, there were people in every village, sad faces and sadder words. _Prince Darian is dead. My son. My only son._  

The faint wind was blowing as Queen Andor continued to the White Mountains: their grey and violet, snow-peppered tops were already clear high in the sky. Her horse, graceful and quick, was even more gracious when assisted by the force of magic, and as she was running through the faded, dry and lifeless hills which kept rolling westward, Andor was sure: she was not being followed. She would have noticed anybody in that rusty wasteland, even a bird. _She is not after me. Not today._

The road was supposed to lead her to the pass of Camlan, but it was not her way: she turned left, and before long, the horse found a lonely mountain path. It was a dangerous ride: the path was writhing like a snake, a steep mountain slope was to the right, and a cliff – to the left.

Queen Andor wrapped a scarf over her face: the wind turned bitter and cold, as though a call of the eternal winter that reigned over the mountain tops. Her hands soon felt numb, with reddened and raw skin. The path was taking her southwards, though, and the grey, grim and lifelessly iron landscape began to change after another two hours of ride: the slopes of the mountains got greener, the grass appeared on both sides of the path, and even the trees were there from time to time.

In another hour or so, the path made a noticeable incline, and the queen had to send her horse into gallop to reach the top of the hill. There was green carpet on earth again, and Andor sensed the nature change around her. When she reached the top of the hill, she paused, enjoying the view and the dignified silence. The hills kept rolling westward, and there was an emerald-green forest down there, so thick she couldn’t see the trees as something separated – they seemed an ocean of green. There were filthy-marble rocks in the center of the forest, and a groove of bigger trees on top of them. _This. The groove._

Queen Andor didn’t like the forest at once, and neither did her horse. A damp carpet of brown and red fallen leaves, uprooted trees overgrown with moss and the silence that suggested animals tried to avoid this place. _The very heart of the old religion, they say._ She didn’t have to tie the horse to a tree when she dismounted, for the spell would make her answer the call when needed. Andor chose to find the entrance alone.

Not that the entrance was hard to find: the road that led to it was the most sinister path Andor had ever walked: it looked like a grave between two rocky slopes, with dead trees bending over the path. It wasn’t that the sunlight couldn’t make its way past the trees, like in Ascetir: the trees in Grove seemed to be swallowing every bit of light. The mouth of the cave was blind-black, a threshold over the matters of life and death that led into the void. _Today I’m ready to step into the void._

And yet she was trembling, and the agony of fear seized her as the darkness wrapped around Andor in the cave. The fear for her land, her people, her family, the future of magic and the only dragonlord _with_ dragon made her draw her cloak tightly around her. Step by step in the darkness, she kept moving slowly for she didn’t know if she was allowed to use magic in the sacred place.

She saw them standing, leaning on their staffs, their gravely pale faces covered by the bluish hoods. _Were there ever figures so impersonal, so inhuman, so eerie?_

"Who dares step into the sacred place?" the voice boomed in the cave.

"Who dares come without invitation to disturb the Triple Goddess?" a similar voice echoed.

"But it is Queen Andor of the Land of Camelot. Queen of the Druids and the mother of the dragon blood," the third voice rang.

There was no way for Andor to see which of the Disir was speaking; the darkness was too thick and the echo too strong.

"I am indeed Queen Andor,” she nodded and bent the knee. “I have come..."

"We know why you have come."

"The Triple Goddess knows it all."

"She sees all."

"Everything. What has been."

"What is."

"What will be."

_Why can’t only one of them speak? Thank Goddess they don’t talk at once._

"Then the Triple Goddess knows why I have come humbly to seek her help," Andor said. 

"You risk turning up here even though you have not embraced the old religion?" threat was creeping from the mouth of the Disir.

"Dismissed its faith?"

"Denied its ways?"

There was no fear in her heart, and the Disir would have spent too long a time looking for the traces of guilt or sorrow for Andor’s past deeds. _I don’t fear what has been. It is what to come that frightens me._

"I fought against the dark superstitions, the dark arts of blood and sacrifice and the practices of disturbing the spirit world. Is that not honorable of a Queen? I have never, never persecuted the followers of the Old Religion."

"So much is true," the Disir finally spoke at once.

"And now I fear..."

"We know what you fear."

"The Triple Goddess knows. She sees all your fears, as though you offered them on your open hand. You dread the destruction of everything you most value."

"The end of your reign."

"The fall of the dragonlords themselves. And if you accept one of your fears, the Goddess will answer to you."

_Accept one of my fears? To accept the fall of the dragonlords? Never. To accept the destruction of everything I most value? No. The end of my reign? It was supposed to end one day anyhow._

"I shall accept the end of my reign."

"So you shall. Ask your questions, three of them."

"How do I protect my people from the swords of the usurper?” the queen sounded most impatient.  “All of them?"

"Don't be looking for the enchantment to protect your people, Andor, Queen of the Druids and Mother of Dragon Blood, for even a sorceress like you cannot cast a spell of such power that will sustain the spell through time long enough."

"You must instead turn to the ancient magic that had been known to your land and your people before you turned your eyes blind on this art. The magic of the old ways themselves, the magic that runs deeper than all the spells you chant. Blood, flesh and bone."

_Blood, flesh and bone? Why don’t they advise me to travel to the Isle of the Blessed and become one of their priestesses?_

"This magic will help you seal the usurper's promise if you make dragonfire dance on the sheets of Avalon," the third figure concluded and slammed her staff against the ground, which Andor took as a sign for her next question to be asked.

"Will the Usurper be the foe to my kind?"

The Disir remained silent for what seemed an eternity in the blackness of the cave, before their voice tore the silence once again.

"There will be a day when the hearts of a Pendragon and a Dragonlord will beat as one."

"But so to be, the Dragonlord who’s king by rights must himself vest the ruling right into the Usurper's hands."

"Else the magic will have no power."

_Charming. I must ask my grandson to crown the man responsible for the death of my son._

"What is to be done with the Sigan magic?"

"The Evil Raven magic is so dark not even you have the power to break it.”

"For the part of his magic is irreversible."

"But you would do well to use its powers to strengthen your own magic, but remember that even when drained, Sigan's curse will still live on."

"I shall be forever grateful," Queen Andor bowed down, hoping she would never ever have to meet the Disir again.

 ***

When she came out of the cave, she sighed, unable to hide her relief. _There is a way, not the one I’d love, but a way nonetheless. My people can be safe at the cost of the end of my reign._

She hurried away from the dwelling of the Disir, walking along the thickly overgrown hollow, when she heard the small stone sliding down the slope. She turned around quickly and whispered something: her eyes flashed, and the thick smoke started pouring out of her sleeves. Before long, the hollow between the two rocks was enwrapped in the clouds, and Andor noticed it immediately: there was, not far away from her, a space which the mist couldn’t cover, a transparent silhouette of a man or a woman. Queen Andor recognized that silhouette.

"It was not worth your journey, trust me," she announced, too peacefully.

The air in that space began to blur, and the recently transparent silhouette turned out to be a short, long-haired woman with brown hair.  

"How clever,” the woman said with a smug smile. “You have advanced with your magic, your highness."

"Mock me all you want,” the queen stepped back. “This is a sacred place. You will not dare."

" _The cave_ is a sacred place,” the brown-haired woman pointed. “The Grove is not. They say it is the source of the old ways themselves. Did you know it? Legend tells us that this is how the Isle religion started. Our priestess stumbled upon this cave, where she met the Disir for the first time. She begged the Disir for knowledge. They refused her, and she sacrificed one of her people to them, to prove her intentions. It's been long since the blood dew this forest, don't you think?"

The rotating ball of fire appeared in the woman’s hand. It looked as though she had merely made a move, but the fire ball started flying Queen Andor’s way as though the brown-haired woman had thrown it with all her might. The Queen turned, waving her cloak fiercely, and the piece of cloth turned into a bubble of light moments before the ball of fire crashed it, causing Queen Andor no visible harm. The Queen rose her hand the instant and started whispering, her eyes golden. The wind that rose out of nowhere was so strong that the short woman’s hair were standing on end as she tried to keep her balance. When it seemed she was about to fall, to be blown away, the tree roots tore the ground beneath her feet and helped her regain the position. At the same moment, the tree roots rose from the ground beneath Queen Andor feet, too, and started twining around her like ivy around a tree. Queen Andor was on the ground, the tree roots were wrapping around her body, reaching throat and she was suffocating, powerless to lift the curse. The brown-haired woman kept whispering the spell without taking her eyes off the roots.

When it seemed that Queen Andor’s doom was sealed, she bit her finger to blood and slammed her hand against the ground. The earth started trembling, and the rocks and stones started falling off the slope, a deadly mass racing down and threatening to bury the brown-haired woman. The woman broke the eye contact and grabbed the ring on her left hand: the earth underneath her turned into water, and she dived into the pool a moment before a giant stone rolled past the place where she had just stood. Andor threw the tree roots off easily, and rose to her feet. Ten yards from her, the earth turned into water again, and the brown-haired woman climbed out of it: Andor waved at the nearby tree, making its leaves, suddenly as sharp as daggers, fly at her foe. The brown-haired woman cursed, drew her elbows together and then – apart, but with greater effort; a wall of fire appeared in front of her, burning all the leaves flying her way. Another moment, and the wall started moving Andor’s way; the queen made a series of complicated moves with her hands, and a door appeared in the middle of the fire wall, the door which opened and allowed the queen to step through the wall, unharmed, when it reached her.  

The brown-haired woman was breathing heavily. _She has powers for one castaway spell,_ the Queen thought _. If she chooses to attack me, she’ll have to travel to Eofham by horse, which she will never do._   

"I am most impressed, your highness. For underestimating you, accept my sincere apologies. But you must forgive me, after all. Wasting such an opportunity to kill you? That would be foolish."

"I don't blame you, _Nimueh_. After all, I intend to do the same with the Isle of the Blessed. I am not going to waste an opportunity to bathe it in the dragon flames. Fire would suit that place."

"Bring your last dragon and your last dragonlord, your highness. I will be happy to grant them the same end I granted to your dear son. He died a brave death, I must tell you."

The mention of her dead son’s name didn’t move Queen Andor the slightest. _It’s what she wants. My reaction is the pleasure she will never get._

"Learn that lesson, Nimueh. You'll soon need to die a brave death, too."

Andor turned around and started walking away.

"The Disir would have never told you the way to harm the Isle!” Nimueh shrieked. “The Triple Goddess is worshipped there!"

_This is it. Thank Goddess, she is afraid._

"I don't care who is worshipped in that forsaken place,” Queen Andor said without turning back. “It will soon turn to ashes."

"Not before I put everybody in your kingdom to the sword!"

"Farewell, Nimueh," the queen muttered, as though to herself.

***

Queen Andor’s suspicions and predictions came true within eight days. Shortly before the sunset, the Usurper’s banners were seen over the horizon, and everybody at court looked as though they felt a painful stab of revulsion, mixed with an eerie feeling of threat. Queen Andor ordered the bridges to be raised and the gates to be locked. Sigan’s magic started booming within the walls _. I would gladly see him try and take the castle._  

The Usurper brought his weakened host, composed of soldiers worn off by the battle against Lord Ryence of Brechfa (the Battle of Ashes, they had named it, even though the dragons had barely a chance to bathe the Usurper’s men in fireflames) and by raiding Eofham, which resisted the conquest most fiercely. Much as the Usurper wanted this to look as a thoroughly planned move, a part of his strategy, Queen Andor understood too well there was a different reason for the soldiers to arrive so quickly: _Nimueh was afraid._  

Queen Andor recalled the voice of the priestess. She sounded hollow and insincere when she boasted of the power to kill the last dragon. Even back at the grove, the queen was sure Nimueh was lying; after everything they had discovered ever since, Andor was sure the power Nimueh had summoned to kill the dragons had evaporated like the morning dew. _And I can make it sure she will never see another dawn._

Fear lapped at Queen Andor when she turned around to look, left and right, at those who had arrived at the hall. Something other than fear, a heavy mix of guilt and impossible remorse gripped Queen Andor at the sight of their expressions. Three of her granddaughters stood on the left side: the eldest, Lewissa, next to her sister Anna, both young with chestnut silky hair, and the youngest, Gabryss, daughter of Darian. Her grandson, Dorin, a handsome youth of eleven, stood on the right side, with Thulin, a fair-haired broad-shouldered boy of sixteen. _The dragonlords without dragons_ , _that’s how the small folk calls them now_ , Andor frowned. Vivienne, the sister of the dragonlord Winybolt who had left no children, was by their side, too. _Hamelia and Sewyll are missing._

Daylight was slipping from the hall, but nobody dared to light the torches, even though eleven days had passed since the fall of the dragonlords.    

“Grandma, you must not do it,” Anna said; her hand was clenching her sister’s arm so tightly it seemed her life depended on how hard she’d cling to it. “I’m sorry, I meant to say, your highness. Your highness, you must not…”

“I have already given orders. I have already held an open council where I urged every man, or woman, or child of this land propose a solution which was better than mine. Little fruits it brought, need I remind you?”

“Better poisons than the fruits we have, your highness,” Isma shrugged and grimaced; her husband, Yoris, tried to hold her hand in a gesture to make her shut up, but she didn’t care. “You’re asking us to remain with the usurper and his court. Lead our lives among those savages. See them rip our traditions apart and install their wild ways and…”

“Our traditions will remain preserved, they will blossom in the forests of the new land, the land we shall call Andor, after the name of the druid dynasty,” the queen snapped back. “Our people and their children, all of them, will be allowed to leave and settle down in the new land, which is not entirely unknow to us.”

“But at what cost? You’re making us walk into the nightmare knowing there will never be a walking back, while you…”

“Enough!” it was Vivienne, not the queen, who demanded order in the hall. “We have to be braver than that. This is our home, this is where our dynasty has been dwelling for hundreds of years and…”

“My son!” Isma shouted vehemently. “He has just married, and…”

“And Hamelia wouldn’t mind a sane mother-in-law!” Vivienne said without a single tiny drop of pity. “We all have families, we all want safety. Safety is what we all need, and what her highness can offer. The queen speaks but the truth. Nobody can propose a better solution now that…”

“We still have Balinor. Balinor and his dragon, he can command it and we can burn their bones and…”

“And lose him the way we’ve lost the other three?” Vivienne’s opposition couldn’t raise Isma’s fading morale. “Be reasonable, Isma.”

The queen turned away. Her eyes were welled with tears of sorrow, for she blamed herself and her son for the position she had put her land into. But she had to be strong to seal the peace. _Even if Nimueh no longer possesses the power to kill the dragon, she is a skilled priestess and she and her kind can cause enough harm to the druids. One dragon can’t be enough the save us from the Isle and from the swords of the Usurper. I am outnumbered and outperformed. Peace, not victory, is what I need now._

“I am heading for the negotiations tonight,” Queen Andor announced, glad that the words couldn’t demonstrate her sadness and her heart-broken soul. The hall grew still at once. “If everything goes as planned, there will be three marriages and the long and peaceful life ahead. The time of druids, after all, may be running out, and it is perhaps the dawn of the time of men. It is but how things go, for we all know there used to be the times of Sidhe before we came to dwell in these lands.”

“Prince Dorin,” the queen then fixed her eyes on the boy who was doing his best to pretend he felt brave in this murky hall of people discussing the chances to avoid the doom of the magic dynasty. “Prince Dorin, after you perform what I have asked of you, providing that the priestess doesn’t dissuade the Usurper, I think it would be safer for you to go to the Seaside Kingdom, to be fostered by King Reginald himself. King Reginald was a good friend of your father and I am sure his happiness will know no limits once he learns that Darian’s son will be arriving at Gedref. Your mother, I believe, will find that this proposal suits our land’s interests. You are prince Darian’s son and according to our laws, you are now the heir to the Druid Throne. We may let the Usurper into the castle, but the druids will live on and will need their leader.”

Dorin’s mother, Elsa, looked stunned; her indignation with the proposal to send prince Dorin to Gedref for King Reginald to foster was etched in her white face. Queen Andor tried to ignore Elsa’s fury. _Does she really think anybody still cares about those foolish rumors? She is now a widow, her husband was slain at the battle and she would do well not to raise that subject again. Now, it is time to go._

“If I do not return by dawn,” Andor said, touching her neck, where the scars from the tree roots were fresh to remind her of Nimueh’s powers, “you must call for Balinor. He is the only one who knows the Sigan spell. And his dragon, obviously.”

She glanced through the window: the village was drowning in the gathering twilight. It had been abandoned, for people chose to enter the citadel to hide behind the moat. There were lights, though, cookfires of the Usurper’s vast camp.

“Grandma,” Anna said, pleadingly. “But _she_ is here, _she_ is with him.”

“She couldn’t take my life in the very heart of the Old Religion, sweet granddaughter, do you really believe she can kill me here, in the place guarded by Sigan’s curse?”

***

After eleven blindingly black nights the torches and cookfires of the Usurper’s camp seemed a horrible violation against the mourning castle, even though the mourning was supposed to last three days only. However, it had been ruled out that the mourning should go on unless the bones of the dragonlords were returned to Camelot.

There were many people but little order in the camp of the Usurper. There were not enough tents to harbour all the soldiers, most of them, looking filthy and dressed in rags, just gathered around the cookfires, talking in lowered voices. As the queen was making way to the largest tent visible, a red one with the oriental setting, she had to swerve and zigzag so that she wouldn’t walk into the soldiers, commanders and warlords. From what Andor had understood from her brisk walking, the part of the camp where the provisions were stored was a bit late, moving slower than the soldiers, and many of fighters were angry with that.

They couldn’t see her, of course. Her magic was so strong she barely had to whisper the spell to merge with the shadows, as though invisible, and started walking. The soldiers, although tired and weary, were neither feeble nor of low-morale. The gusts of their conversations flying around suggested their spirits were high, and their youth – hungry for combats and for glory.

She stopped not very far from the entrance to the tent, a royal tent, by the size of it. It was, of course, impolite and inappropriately discourteous to storm into the tent while keeping her charms on. Andor’s eyes flashed and she appeared, as if out of thin air.

The four guards, positioned at the entrance, and the two which were patrolling around the tent, let out gasps of shock, and drew their swords.

“ _INTRUDERS! INTRUDERS!_ ” they shouted.

Andor was standing still, her eyes darting from one guard to another to see if anybody was stupid enough to use the blade against her.

“I bear no ill will,” Andor spoke softly. “I mean to see your king.”

“Who are you, witch?” the red-faced guard asked demandingly, blade shaking in his hand.

“I am the queen of Camelot.”

“Prove it!”

It was unlikely that anybody noticed her foot stomp, but everybody surely noticed the cookfires and torches fade and the whole camp of thousands of people sink into complete darkness. At once, all the conversations seized, and as Andor’s eyes flashed and the fire flames were brought back, she sensed shades of fear spread through the tents.

The guard gulped, his sword shaking even more.

“Why don’t you tell your king that queen Andor is here?”

“I…aye… your… majesty…”

“It’s highness,” she corrected him. “You should address me as your highness.”

Before long, the shawls of the tents flew open and a tall, lean young man walked out. Oval-faced, with prolonged chin, bushy eyebrows and deep-set, soft eyes, her certainly didn’t look like a usurper to her. But when he started talking, the queen changed her mind the instant.

“The bloody hell just happened to the bloody fire? I’m asking you! Why have you drawn the swords? Answer me! Who the bloody hell are you?” he frowned, looking at the queen as though she was the most confusing scene in his life.

“It is but Andor, Queen of the Druids and Mother of the Dragon Blood,” the voice erupted from behind the usurper’s back, and the short, brown-haired figure appeared. “We were not expecting you so soon, your highness.”

“Queen Andor?” the usurper whispered, struggling to believe. “But we thought… we thought the talkings will be tomorrow? We thought we’d arrange the swap of hostages before we meet? You come here alone? Where are your guards?”

“Uther, she needs no guards,” Nimueh said gloomy, visibly unhappy about it. “You’d do well to invite the queen in your tent and offer her some wine.”

For a moment, Uther Pendragon looked lost, and it seemed the idea of seizing Queen Andor was seducing him seriously. The words of his priestess, however, proved to wield more authority, and he bowed down and said:

“Your highness. Please, be my guest.”

***

 There were three other people in the tent, all men: a fair-haired man with round face and reddened cheeks, a tall and muscular men with a sword at his belt that seemed longer than his arms, and a ginger youth with a scar on his left cheek. When Queen Andor walked into the tent, they turned to her and exchanged looks.

“What’s your matter here?” the fair-haired one asked.

“An urgent one,” the queen replied with a smile.

“What are you, old woman?” the one with the sword inquired.

“She is the queen of Druids, you bloody arrogant pigs,” Nimueh’s tone seemed to be angered as she walked into the tent. _Is she offended by their manners? She just tried to kill me last week._ “Show some respect. She is powerful enough to kill three simple-minded warriors.”

“Ector, please, some wine for us and for the queen,” Uther gestured as he joined the two women. The fair-haired man started searching for the bottle. “Your highness, I apologize for the absence of servants. We were discussing the matters of kingdom, and we required privacy.”

“I’m sorry to have interrupted,” Queen Andor sank into the wooden chair that stood by the fire in the middle of the tent. The fire was obviously a work of magic: its flames radiated neither heat nor smoke, serving the purpose of illuminating the tent only. _A nice work._ “But it seems to me that now we’ve got to discuss the matters of the kingdom together.”

“And why is that, your highness?” Uther replied boldly, with a nasty smile.

“Because the future of your kingdom depends on mine, and the future of my land seems in your hands as well. We may, of course, try to eradicate each other, so that there were a future for just one of our kingdoms, and if you prefer so do to do, I shall leave at once.”

Nimueh’s look was as heavy as the chains, but the queen pretended she hadn’t noticed it. The smile was gone from Uther’s face.

“I don’t mean to eradicate you, your highness.”

“Good. It means I won’t have to eradicate you either. It’s good news because eradicating you would be a demanding work, with your priestess around. Now, was somebody talking about wine?”

The fair-haired man arranged his face into the most hostile expression, together with the flames reflected in his eyes, he looked as though mortally offended by Andor’s manners. He brought the wine nonetheless and poured the dark-red liquid into a goblet.

“Won’t you join me?” she rose her eyebrow and pursed her lips.

“Of course,” Uther muttered.

Before long, they were all on their feet, with goblets in their hands.

“We shall drink to remember the soldiers lost at this war,” the queen proposed. “All of them, your people, Brechfa and Eofham men, and my dragonlords.”

They drank. Andor noticed the gleeful exchange of looks between the ginger man and the swordsman when she mentioned “her dragonlords”, and for a moment she considered murdering them all at once, but Nimueh’s gaze remained heavily fixed on her, as though the priestess was ready to resume their forest duel any moment.

“You haven’t checked the wine for poison,” Nimueh couldn’t help but notice. “Too carefree of you, your highness.”

“Death doesn’t worry me. Well, I should say: it’s not my death that worries me. Besides,” queen Andor pointed at the chain on her neck and pulled the golden locket with the ruby from underneath her robes.

Nimueh’s eyes widened, but to the four men in the tent this gesture made little to no sense. Uther cleared his throat as though inviting them to start the real conversation.

“Your highness…”

“These men, they can stay with us? They can hear us?”

“They are my warlords,” Uther said beamingly. “May I present to you Ector of House Gorlois.”

The fair-haired young man who served them wine nodded.

“Ector’s uncle is the lord of Asgorath, my lady. It’s a territory in the Mountain Kingdom.”

“My lord,” Andor nodded, too.

“This is Demeth of House Dindrane,” Uther pointed at the tall and muscular man with the sword. “He is the heir to the lordship of Denaria, although his father tries to question his rights.”

“Why?” Andor asked, pretending to sound surprised.

“He’s old enough, and forgot that a true man is spoken about by his deeds. He didn’t like me joining King Uther, my la… your highness,” Demeth spoke in a hoarse, but steady voice.

“Forgive me, my lords, but what exactly is king Uther the king of?” Andor asked casually, sipping some wine to carry herself through an awkward silence that flooded the tent after her question.

“Uther Pendragon is the King of the Three Kingdoms,” Nimueh was the one to reply. “He has untied these lands to…”

“Does King Edren know Uther reigns in the Mountain Kingdom?”

“My grandfather,” Uther put his goblet aside. “Is a man whose mind has been eclipsed by the long years he has lived. I can’t blame him for…”

“For refusing to back your campaign? I can’t either, Uther. Your deeds, as Demeth of House Dindrane has wisely noticed, speak about you. Murdered soldiers, vandalized villages, raped women, orphaned children, and many other deeds that, if King Edren was wise to see, he’d never back.”

“Suffering is but a part of the world’s nature. We suffer from the day we are born. We suffer when we die. Wars are doomed to bring out the worst of men, but the fruits of victory are so sweet they tell us not to stop when darkness is looking at us,” Uther’s eyes were no more soft.

“I see that your priestess made sure that you can remember the words well,” Queen Andor rose her hand, and the moment she did, Nimueh dropped her goblet and rose her hand, too. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to… It was a gesture, just a gesture. Much as I loathe your war and the destruction it has brought, Uther Pendragon, it’s not my destiny to try and bring the good out of you. The crimes you have committed can’t be redone with my magic. There is no magic which can undo the horrors of war. But the past worries us not today. We must see into the mists of future. What aim do you intend to achieve by bringing your soldiers to the gates of my castle?”

“Camelot is the castle from where I intend to rule over the four kingdoms,” Uther replied, his tone dry and focused.

“Four kingdoms? We’ve just been talking about three! What is the fourth kingdom your wish to rule over?”

“Camelot. The Druid Land.”

 “And who gave you the rights to rule over my land? I don’t remember discussing the succession changes with you.”

“How dare you?!” the ginger man was on his feet. “Uther, throw this wench out and let’s see her attitude after we feed her people to our swords and…”

The man’s eyes suddenly widened, her fell on his knees, turning the table over, breaking the bottle of wine. A mighty warrior a moment ago, he suddenly turned into a feeble, emaciated man, and his throat was making horrible sounds as if the air was being sucked out of it.

“Enough!” Nimueh shouted and Andor’s fingers, which seemed to be clutching something invisible in the air, relaxed. The ginger men started breathing.

Uther did not stand up, unlike Demeth and Ector, who rushed to help the ginger man. His was studying Queen Andor and she could swear there was some admiration in his dark look.

“Forgive him, your highness. Turns out Thorpus hasn’t taken my warning about your power seriously.”

“So much the worse for him,” Andor said in a voice drained of compassion. “He is slowing us all down. Uther, you’ve started a war. And your priestess killed three of my dragonlords.”

“Your dragonlords interfered into the act of war between the Mountain Kingdom and the Midlands. On what rights?”

“The Druids have always been busy keeping peace between the kingdoms!”

Nimueh smirked, but Andor spared her any attention. The matters of future were more important than the feuds of the gone days.

“You’ve taken this right to yourself, without consulting any other kingdom” Uther’s tone was getting progressively angrier. “You and your ancestors only bothered to send out dragonlords when people started fighting wars. Meanwhile, the bandits, the robbers, the outlaws, the thieves and the smugglers kept ripping these lands apart while you, druids, kept ignoring it deliberately…”

“Magic must never be used to serve justice in the world of mortals!” Queen Andor flushed.

“Magic can serve a better purpose, a greater good, but because of your outdated beliefs and the might of the dragonlords, there was never much order in these lands. The only order you protected were the borders, which couldn’t be changed. What happened underneath those borders never seemed to interest you, your highness. But now that your dragons are dead, the borders must change, and so will the rules. You’ve sent your dragonlords against me, but I defeated them. And I shall be the one to unite these lands under the laws which will promise greater justice than these lands have ever seen. There will be order.”

“You can triumph all you want about defeating my dragons, which you did only because of the rare talents of this priestess, but I think it hasn’t even begun to dawn upon you what consequences we all must face for that.”

“The consequences you might dislike, the changes you are predictably afraid of, your highness,” Uther said. “But I will welcome these consequences and…”

“Will you, Uther? Will you live long enough to welcome them? Because now that all our neighbors know that three dragonlords have been killed, they will start massing their armies, preparing to invade these lands and tear us apart. They know there are no more dragons to protect us. Once they see that you’re struggling with the siege, and if you dare to lay the siege you will struggle, I promise, once they see you’re struggling with taking the castle of Camelot, they, all of them, the kings and queens of Mercia, of Essetir, of Nemeth, of Deorham, of Cornwall, of Gawant, of Dyfed and of Gwynedd, they will all be eager to have their bite of the Camelot tart. And with the Midlands savaged by your war, with most of the Mountain Kingdom soldiers by the walls of Camelot, I don’t see how we can prevent it from happening. Even your priestess doesn’t have such power.”

Uther’s warlords turned their gazes away, for they seemed to have been struck by this idea. _What kind of warlords are they if they didn’t think about this?_

“Her highness would never come to us without a plan, I’m sure,” Nimueh, who seemed to remain unbothered, put on a smile. “I’m sure she has talked to _somebody_ who was able to give her a piece of worthy advise.”

“Here are my terms. We must seal the truce between our kingdoms through three marriages. Why don’t your warlords,” she waved at them dismissively. “marry two of my granddaughters and a sister of the fallen dragonlord? Oh, don’t make those faces. My girls don’t have dragonteeth _down there_. I am sure you will find them pretty.”

Uther and his warlords laughed.

“Three marriages? How can a marriage protect us from…”

“Let her finish,” Nimueh silenced Uther with an excited look. “Three marriages?”

“Yes. After that, my grandson, prince Dorin, who is not only a dragonlord but the only legitimate heir to the Druid Throne, according to our laws, will crown you, Uther Pendragon. You will be called the King of Camelot and after that you will send Dorin to Gedref, for King Reginald to foster.”

“I don’t believe that’s the full story,” Nimueh tilted her head.

“It is not. You,” Andor nodded at Nimueh, “will give us the heart of the unicorn back, as well as the bones of my dragonlords. You’ve caused enough harm. And you, Uther, will be crowned at the small isle in the middle of the lake of Avalon. You will swear an oath to the crown and to the magic itself.”

“An oath?” Uther frowned. “What oa…”

But Nimueh put her hand on his mouth and nodded at Andor, inviting the queen to continue.

“You will let all my people who express such wish go to the land of Andor, the new land from Greenswood village in the south to Tunneled Mountains in the north, from Northern Plains in the west to plains of Othanden in the east.”

“Before you wear the crown of Camelot, Uther, you will swear an _oath_ which at the same time will be a _spell_. You will swear that you and your people will be powerless to harm the druids in the land of Andor, and my grandson will swear that dragonlords will be powerless to harm the Isle of the Blessed and its priestesses. The spell will hold so long as you don’t attempt to harm your dear priestess.”

“You don’t have the power to cast such a spell!” Nimueh said in disbelief.

“I don’t. But together, we can do it, priestess. We shall make it as the old ways teach. We shall rely on blood of the priestess, flesh of a mortal and bones of the dragonlord. We shall make fire dance on the water sheets of Avalon, and we shall draw the strength for this spell from the curse of Sigan.”

“What are you planning to achieve with this?” Uther, who had been blinking while Andor was speaking of magic, asked with poorly masked suspicion in his voice.

“Peace. Once you’re king, my people will be safe in Andor, and you will not have the power to harm them even if you decide to do so. At the same time, none of the dragonlords will be able to harm the Isle of the Blessed and its priestesses, the place where Nimueh comes from. See, she fears that the last dragonlord, Balinor, may decide to bathe the Isle in flames.”

“But that won’t protect _me_ ,” Uther pressed the point. “From your people rising up against me.”

“In what way? Andor is far enough from the castle of Camelot. If the druids trespass the border, you will be able to kill them as though they are mortal people. Uther, the spell is but a guarantee of our peace. For the rest of the wide world, it will look as though you’ve smashed Ryence Gingawaine, defeated Eofham and took the castle of Camelot. The foreign kings and queens would think twice before trying to test you.”

Nimueh looked cautious, but remotely pleased.

“So, you want Uther to swear an oath, then you want me and you to bind the oath with the power of blood, flesh and bones, then you will draw the curse of Sigan into this oath, then you want prince Dorin to bring fire flames to the sheets of Avalon, and, last, you will see Dorin put a crown on Uther’s head and proclaim him king of Camelot. That will turn Uther’s oath into a spell and make it last so long as Uther doesn’t try to harm me. Which he will never do. Am I right?”

“You are, priestess.”

"And so long as Uther doesn't try to harm me, the magic we will summon will protect you and your people from Uther and his men, and the same magic will protect me and the Isle of the Blessed from the dragon and the dragonlord." 

"Correct." 

“Uther, we must not turn away such a generous offer,” Nimueh whispered, her eyes gleaming.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding this prologue, it has not only been published just because of Christmas week :D The prologue means a great deal for the plot and for our characters, and I'm sure the attentive readers will get the idea what this meaning is about ^^ 
> 
> <3


	2. Merlin 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Following their plan, Merlin and Arthur say goodbye to each other for some time, and Merlin commences his journey to Camelot with Gwaine, getting into trouble on the very first day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're starting two days earlier! To my dear readers from "The Great Design" - welcome back, I hope you're as excited as I am in watching Merlin's and Arthur's adventures unfold as the two sides of the same coin attempt to win back the kingdom. Things are getting more heated and risky as the gambling for the throne of Camelot takes unexpected turns even for those who thought they had everything under their control. 
> 
> To the new readers, please accept my warmest welcomes and feel free to read "The Great Design" fic in order to understand what's happening here :D 
> 
> The work is split into five volumes:
> 
> Volume I "The Old Ways" covers chapters 2-20  
> Volume II "Shadows" covers chapters 21-37  
> Volume III "Prince at Heart" covers chapters 38-50  
> Volume IV "Kingdoms and courts" covers chapters 52-66  
> Volume V "The Last Dragonlord" covers chapters 68-82
> 
> Merlin POV

#  VOLUME I

# THE OLD WAYS 

_"You, true and tender souls,_

_Who blame the fancy free,_

_Cease your bitter plaints;_

_in dilliance is no iniquity,_

_For if love has wings,_

_It is to soar in liberty."_

\- Pierre Beaumarchais.

 

**Chapter 1: Another's Sorrow**

They were standing on the dusty village road; the sunrays were piercing Merlin's pale skin and making his eyes water. He blamed the tears on the sunlight, of course, for Arthur had punched him friendly when he stumbled upon Merlin’s sobering look.

“Don’t you dare,” Arthur did no more than put his hand on Merlin’s shoulder, for it was the most intimate gesture of love they could afford when Hunith, Gwaine, Owaine and Modron were staring. “You’ve promised not to cry. And I’ve told you once, and I repeat: no man is worth your…”

“ _You_ are worth every teardrop,” Merlin’s voice was fighting its way past the stoned tears.

Modron and Owaine arranged their faces in weird expressions and turned away, pretending to be taking care of the horses. _They still don’t know. And I can’t kiss him now because of them. I hate it._

“Owaine, Modron,” Merlin said past Arthur’s shoulder. “You’ve sworn to protect him. See that he gets to the castle of Nemeton safe.”

“Don’t worry, juggler-boy,” Modron’s mouth was as close to smile as it could possibly be. “The prince is our care now.”

“And he shall remain so. Don’t be sad, we’ll see you in the castle of Gedref in two weeks. I shall throw a feast in your honor, I promise. It’s not often that sorcerers save the heir of Gedref in the patrols. I haven’t forgotten that. Goodbye, Merlin.”

Owaine petted him on the shoulder and went to mount his horse. Modron's curly black hair seemed to be overheated by the sunshine, for he kept pouring water from the waterskin over his head. He stretched his arm out, rather suddenly, and grabbed Merlin’s in a strong handshake.

“Goodbye, trick-boy. Come back with all your weapons. Can’t way to see you fly.”

Arthur grabbed Merlin in an embrace that lifted the young warlock up the air. Arthur’s skin, the strawberry scent of his fair hair and the sad-blue sea of his eyes, mingled with the unfazed sunny afternoon, made Merlin drown in the sensation of the utmost loyalty and love for his king.

“This is not a farewell,” Arthur whispered into Merlin’s ear. “This is a goodbye for some time. Remember what I told you in the Western Tower, and you’ll easily find your way to Gedref, if you really can fly. My magic star. Now go, don’t stand here wasting your time. And Merlin, you’ve sworn an oath. You must come back to me.”

“I love you,” Merlin whispered back, not caring that tears were flooding his cheeks.

He caught his mother’s somewhat perplexed look, Gwaine’s sly smile and then he watched Arthur, Owaine and Modron ride away, not daring to take his eyes off the sunbathed horizon until the silhouettes of three horsemen disappeared in the summer glow.

He then wheeled around: his mother and Gwaine, although maintaining an awkward silence, had waited for him patiently.

“So, Merlin? Fancy some traveling with me?” Gwaine said with a smile.

“I still think you should’ve joined them. Arthur would need another guard…”

“I’m no guard, Merlin. I’m a free man.”

“I didn’t mean that,” Merlin apologized, quickly.

Hunith’s face was bothered, as though an expression of a woman that was about to collapse under the weight of all the burdens attacking her life.

“I think, Merlin, you must be nice and show some respect to Gwaine,” she said reproachfully. “He has kindly agreed to accompany you, which not many people would, giving what you’re attempting to do.”

“Mum, you’re trying to make look as though I’m traveling to Camelot to take Ryence Gingawaine’s head off with a single struck,” Merlin noticed Hunith’s eyes narrowing on him. “I’m not going to kill the king. Only if he is stupid enough to try and kill Arthur…”

“Enough! Enough of this, Merlin! Sweet boy, you shouldn’t be talking about murders so carelessly, you can’t imagine what murder can do the soul of a man!” Hunith raised her voice.

 _Oh, mum, I have an idea or two_ , Merlin thought, the visions of Morgana being swallowed by the hemlock clouding his mind again.

“I’m sorry, mum. Sorry for calling you a guard, Gwaine.”

“Don’t bother, fella. Emotional now, aren’t we?”

“Er… a little bit. Right.”

Hunith’s shack looked and felt miserably lonely when they stepped in for a final cup of water and a good meal before commencing their journey. The garden looked seductively calm, the grass green as though painted, the apple trees and the flower beds with red, blue and yellow, the rich-black soil of the growing vegetables, the well and the ash tree where Arthur had kissed him and made him swear an oath. _Stay safe, dollophead, I beg you, don’t do anything stupid and don’t get involved into anything stupid._ Not an hour had passed since their parting, and Merlin was already considering abandoning all his plans and setting off to the castle of Nemeton. _No. I must find the solution first. I don’t have much time left._

 Hunith made their traveling bags overweighed with food, and refused to let her son remove a single apple out of it, no matter how convincing Merlin tried to sound when saying they wouldn’t be able to walk long with such packs.

“I still can’t understand why you can’t take Dolly,” Hunith complained. “I’m not rich enough to have a horse, people will be asking questions…”

“Dolly is unlikely to lead a peaceful life in the stables in Camelot, now that… now that the situation is so complicated. She is safer here. Besides, we will walk through the ridge tunnels and we’ll be in Ascetir tonight. The horse is of no much use in the Ascetir forest, you know…”

“He’s right,” Gwaine nodded. “A wise boy you’ve raised, Hunith.”

Hunith was doing her best to repress a proud smile, but she gave up in the end and rushed to hug Merlin and to kiss him on both cheeks.

“I believe in you. Gaius told me he had never seen a boy as talented, and it means much if he says it…”

“What?! You and Gaius have been exchanging letters?!”

“Of course, Merlin! You’re my son and I would be foolish not to keep my eye on you. Gaius couldn’t write very openly, but from what I’ve understood, you’ve impressed him and he thought you were the future of this land.”

Gwaine’s expression was most hilarious.

“Will I be traveling with the future of this land tonight?”

“Gwaine,” Merlin smiled. “Gaius was probably suffering something from one of his potions when he composed that particular letter.”

“Be safe and be careful, Merlin, I plead you,” his mother kissed him on the cheeks again. “Don’t risk too much. There are people who care about you and they will not take the sad news about you easily. Remember that when your mind gets too heated.”

Dolly neighed when he caressed her hair and leaned his head on hers.

“Goodbye, my lady-horse. I shall remain forever grateful for what you’ve done for me and for Arthur.”

As they started walking to the ridge, Gwaine, sighing from the heavy weight of the bag with provisions, asked him hesitantly:

“Merlin, have you just talked to the horse?”

“Oh, it’s not magic. She doesn’t talk back, I can’t hear her, I mean. But I hope she understands me,” he said, casting a last look over the peaceful outline of Ealdor.

***

Gwaine had remained oddly silent throughout the larger part of their journey in the tunnels of the ridge. He was breathing nervously behind Merlin’s back, following the warlock with the tiny heart-shaped piece of fire in his right hand.

“I just don’t fancy staying in the darkness beneath the rocks, fella,” he explained when Merlin turned around to ask him whether he was feeling alright. “Feels like I’m buried here, you know. Can’t wait to see the sunlight already.”

“I fear we’ll walk out past the sunset. Don’t worry, Gwaine, I can see the path clearly. It’ll soon be over,” Merlin tried to paint his voice as cheerful as he could.

When they finally emerged out of the cave, Gwaine and Merlin found themselves on top of a hillside richly covered with green grass and blooming heather. The paling orange sunlight was climbing the highest tree tops of the dense Ascetir forest, and in the east, the air was cool, and the shadows were growing.

“Bless it,” Gwaine muttered, and a sigh of relief followed shortly. “Where exactly are we?”

“Northern Ascetir,” Merlin said, dropping his bag on the ground and sitting down, exhausted after a whole day of walking through the tunnels. “Mind we take a short break before choosing a camp somewhere down there?”

“Not at all, fella,” Gwaine sat down next to Merlin and reached for his waterskin. “So, Merlin, tell me now… How comes you can conjure fire and do all those things?”

“Things?”

“Well, lightning from the sky, they said?”

“Oh, that thing,” Merlin’s smile was maybe too wide, but it was, after all, the first time in his life that he got the chance to discuss his magic with somebody other than Gaius or Lancelot on a rather peaceful occasion. “That’s the way I was born.”

“So, Hunith, I mean, your mother, she, too, can?...”

“What? Do magic? No, she can’t. It’s my father. I inherited this gift from him.”

“But you said your father was banished? When we met in Gedney, you…”

“How do you remember that?” Merlin laughed. “I thought you’d drunk too much to remember a thing from our conversation!”

“Oh, trust me, fella, I’ve drunk more than that in one night. That was just fun. I remember what we talked about. I remember more than just _words_.”

Suddenly, the sunset-lit glow of Gwaine’s eyes and his wind-caressed hair ignited some flame inside Merlin’s chest, the flame that instantly made him turn away and pretend to be drinking from the waterskin. Merlin chuckled and began to cough; Gwaine slammed him on the back lightly.

“Easy now, fella,” he looked jubilant. “Shy, aren’t we? Don’t worry, I’ve seen the two of you earlier, I know I can't be seriously hoping for another kiss.”

Merlin felt the heat burn his cheeks. _That kiss. He smelled so fun, and he was so strong and so tender at the same time. Wait. What am I thinking?_

“The knights may look like they don’t understand, but it’s obvious. The way Arthur held you in his arms when he had to say goodbye, I expected him to kiss you already. So, you found a way to tell him, even though he was a prince?”

“Er…Well…I,” Merlin’s cheeks seemed to be burning now, and he looked up at the dark-blue sky. “Actually, I did as you advised. Less talking, more…doing. I did something.”

“I see,” Gwaine’s eyebrows rose approvingly. “Right in that tavern? On those bedsheets? Who could’ve thought that the prince… Well again, I saw it. He was looking at you the way people usually look at… You know. Somebody they care about. Somebody they love.”

Suddenly, Merlin frowned. _Has Arthur ever told me he loved me? I mean, those three words? Alright, four? Merlin, I love you. Has he ever said that? I’ve told him every time, but he never said that. Does it mean anything? Or is he just a bit of a clotpole when it comes to expressing his feelings?_   

“Merlin! You’re not listening, are you?” Gwaine’s voice lifted him out of his thoughts.

“Oh, I… Sorry, I was thinking…”

“Can’t be sorry for thinking. It’s fine. I was saying, so you’ve got your gift from your father, who was banished by Uther, and you somehow end up in love with Uther’s son? With a _Pendragon_?”

“Arthur’s nowhere as mad and cruel as Uther. We’ve talked about me, he knows I have magic, he has learnt of all the times I’ve come to his rescue, see? And it’s not that he loves me just because I rescued him so many times. He thinks we’re together by some great design,” Merlin said with a faintly romantic voice.

“He looked quite surprised when you said about the lightning and when you promised to fly. You’re sure he knows everything?”

The question, although posed with no wicked intentions, tied a knot in Merlin’s belly. _No. Arthur doesn’t know I can command a dragon. He is still to learn I’ve poisoned Morgana and that she might have died from my hands. He is still to learn that the destruction of the part of the Lower Town was caused by my bargain with the dragon. And the idea of telling him scares me more than revealing my magic._

A terrifying scream, high-pitched, pierced the calm of the summer evening. Gwaine and Merlin exchanged looks and rose to their feet.

“What could that be?” Merlin asked.

“What couldn’t that be?” Gwaine replied, drawing his sword.

“Gwaine, shouldn’t we…”

“Merlin, someone might be in dire need for help! We can’t just keep sitting here, drinking water and talking about love, alright? Follow me, and…”

“No, you follow me,” Merlin protested. “I have magic. I can protect us, if needed.”

They rushed down the hillside, their own speed growing rapidly because of the incline, and when they were running through the trees, the scream’s echo reached Merlin’s ear. His eyes flashed, and his sight got carried away, as though racing through the air, past the trees, past the bushes, past the leaves to the place near a narrow path where a woman was crying while three armed men were beating an older man.

“This way!” Merlin shouted, turning, abruptly. “I can see her!”

Gwaine followed him, holding the hilt of the sword firmly in his right hand.

“There are three of them,” Merlin said, running out of air. “I think we can deal with them. Just be quiet.”

When the company appeared in their sight, Merlin and Gwaine hid behind the trees. The old man was pinned to the tree, and the three tougher men were taking turns in beating him.

“I swear, I swear we’re just traveling, my daughter and me, we are…”

“Liar,” the man’s fist slammed into the old man’s jaw.

“No, father!” the woman screamed. “Father!”

“Shut up, wench! We’ve seen you and your kind, you’ve been moving for two days. Where are you all going?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking…”

“Now,” Merlin commanded, nodding at Gwaine.

Merlin focused his sight on the three men and his eyes flashed; the next moment, their trousers slid down to their ankles and they remained half-naked, their pale bottoms flashing in the gathering dusk.

“What’s that?”

As they bent down to cover their nakedness, Gwaine was at them, with a wild roar, kicking one man in the ass, while slamming the other man’s head with his elbow. Merlin’s eyes flashed again, and a large and heavy tree trunk creaked and fell off its parent-tree, hitting the kicked-in-the-ass man on his head. The second man must have lost his consciousness because of Gwaine’s slam, and the third remained terrified, because his sword lay too far away from him.

Gwaine pointed his sword at the man’s throat.

“What were you doing? Why did you keep beating the old man?”

Merlin appeared out of the tree; his back was again aching because of the spell he had just cast; it seemed that the sunstone spell was making him feel sick every time he did his own magic. The captured man’s eyes widened, for he was afraid there were other Gwaine’s supporters in the wood.

“I wasn’t doing anything, I swear! It’s Vullon, he said we shall keep beating the old man until he told us where all the druids were gathering!”

“And why do you need to know where the druids are gathering?” Gwaine asked, disgusted with the man.

“I don’t give a bloody damn, it’s all Jarl, it’s him, I tell you! He thinks he can raid their camp and make more slaves of them and…”

“You’re Jarl’s men?” Gwaine frowned.

“We were Jarl’s men, we…”

Gwaine moved quicker than Merlin thought men could move. His blade flashed in the air, and even though the man stepped back and tried to shield himself with his arms, the sword pierced him right into his heart, and blood was on the steel.

The woman screamed again, the old man gasped, and Merlin started running towards Gwaine.

“Gwaine! No! No, no, no! Why? Why?! Why did you have to?!”

“He’s Jarl’s man, he kidnaps people and makes them slaves. Men, women and children, he doesn’t care,” the spite in Gwaine’s voice turned it venomous. “The scum like him do not deserve to see the light of day. You’re the druids, aren’t you?”

He was addressing the woman with shaking hands, a dark-haired girl in mid-twenties, with wide hips, thick arms and full breasts. Her father, the gray-haired man with early baldness on his small head, stepped in, sounding fearful:

“Please, sir, we mean no harm. Druids we may be, but we’re peaceful people, like the lot of our kin,” he said, bowing down.

“I’m no knight,” Gwaine replied harshly. “And I am not afraid of the druids. I don’t think you and your, how you said? Kin? I don’t think your kin is dangerous. You’re druids and you’re people, aren’t you? Just like me and my friend? Blimey, Merlin, come here and stop shaking like a leaf!”

“Hello,” Merlin mumbled, still feeling terrible at the sight of a bleeding dead body on the ground. “My name is Merlin. I am glad you’re safe now.”

“We can’t believe you’ve saved us!” the woman’s voice remained high-pitched, but there was a lot of relief to her tone as well. “I told you, father, this is the wrong road! This is my father, by the way, Pliny. I’m Bo.”

“Bo?” Gwaine smiled. “A beautiful name!”

“You’re too kind,” Merlin noticed her blush.

“We were heading northward. This path will lead us to the Mercian road.”

“The Mercian road?” Merlin repeated.

“The one between the castle of Camelot and Mercia.”

“So, you’re going to Mercia?”

 “No, we’ll go to Camelot. To Greenswood,” Bo said before she caught her father’s angry look and zipped her lips.

“Listen, er… Bo and Pliny,” Gwaine tried to clean his blade of the blood. “If it’s important to you, we don’t care where you’re going. We don’t need to know if it’s your secret. But we’re traveling to Camelot, too, with my friend. We mean to work in the Lower Town, at the reconstruction.”

“The Lower Town?” Pliny eyed him suspiciously.

“Aye. The dragon burned it badly, haven’t you heard? There’s work for everyone there. So if you don’t mind, we can travel to Greenswood together, so that you felt safer and we had a good company.”

Pliny didn’t seem to be too fond of the newfound company, but Gwaine, after all, might have just saved his life.

“We’d be honored.”

“Good. Let’s go then. Wait before Merlin brings our bags. We’ve got some food. And we need to tie these two men. Don’t want them to chase us, do we?”

Merlin turned around and went for the bags which they had left at the hillside. He was still disappointed in Gwaine’s abrupt justice for the Jarl’s man, but there was a different thing on his mind. _He said we shall keep beating the old man until he told us where all the druids were gathering_ , that man said. _Where are all the druids gathering?_


	3. Morgana 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana regains her strength after Morgause's magic saves her from Merlin's poison, and she steps into a brave, new, mad Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

**Chapter 2: King's Ward**

The cup seemed as cold to her lips as the stones beneath her feet, and the drink – as bitter as the stinging wind that was howling in the crystal cave. She had woken up a couple of times, but had been too weak to get up. Morgause had been there, the only other living presence in the place where Morgana felt neither welcome nor unwelcome.

 “What is this?” Morgana asked, trying not to vomit from the awful drink. “What are you giving me?”

“Sister, this is the potion I’ve brewed while you were healing. It is destined to help you gain your strength faster, to complete your healing,” Morgause’s look was pitying. “The taste is not pleasant, but the effects are indisputable.”

Morgana felt her arms, legs and shoulders shudder as the bitter wood-tasting drink seized her tongue and made her close her eyes in disgust. _This is the worst drink I’ve ever tasted. It’s worse than that summer when Uther attempted to make his own wine. Uther._

“You said the Pendragons are no more?”

“So much is true, sister,” Morgause was smiling balefully, as though the witch hoped her smile would reach Uther in the spirit world. “The prince was slain in the in the patrol, and Uther died when the news was brought to him…”

“Arthur?!” Morgana nearly let her cup slip out of her hand. “Arthur?! How?!”

The scenes of her childhood were torn apart by the grim darkness, the unsparing hand of death that took Arthur and a part of her happiness away from her. _Arthur. We grew up at court, together. He was the only one who wasn’t a coward to stand up for me when he thought Uther was overdoing the punishment. He was angry that I had started learning the art of swordfight two years before he was allowed to do so._ Her inhales became deep and abrupt, and she pressed her hand to her breast. There was something awfully wrong about the world now that she knew Arthur was gone.

“You are too kind to someone who nearly killed you, sister,” Morgause said with a cold tone of judgement. “Forgiveness is a gift of soul, so much is true, but forgiving those who aimed to murder you is a step into the grave.”

“Murder me? Arthur didn’t try to murder me!” Morgana rose to her feet, slowly, were it because of the strength the potion had brought her or the power of denial in her mind. “ _Merlin_ poisoned me!”

 _Merlin, who knew my secret. Merlin, who didn’t betray me to the king. You can trust me, Morgana. I won't tell anyone,_ she remembered Merlin say, incredibly shy as he was, deciding whether it was appropriate to step over the threshold of her room. _I’ve told him I knew who I really was, I’ve shared my views with him, I said I hoped people would one day come to see magic as a force for good. And yet he didn’t spare that poison to me._

“Sister, do you really trust in the idea that Merlin, who was nothing but a simple servant, could poison you without his master’s order?”

Morgause’s words were sharp as swords. _Could Merlin be acting on Arthur’s command?_

“Tell me, didn’t you find Arthur’s behavior suspicious? Was not the prince acting strange during the attack?”

Arthur rose out of the smoke of her memories, too: a tired face, sweat running down his pale skin, the sword in his hand swaying dangerously and threateningly, and his eyes piercing her as though they were strangers. _Was someone here?! Then why were you hiding?! If she was awake, then she must have seen something! Morgana, I don't understand! Why is it that you're the only person awake?! You're the only one who's not been affected, Morgana. There must be a reason!_

The thoughts seemed filthy to her, her mouth fell open, she wanted to spit. _Could it be? Could it be that Arthur ordered Merlin to poison me before he ran to try and take the knights of Medihr down?_  

Morgause’s voice was salted with fury and such a strong desire for revenge it seemed she’d gladly bring Arthur back to life if it meant she could kill him herself.

“It seems strange that the prince has not drunk water from the poisoned waterskin, doesn’t it, sister? I know that your sight is young and kind, and you would never dare to believe the prince could attempt to poison a harmless and defenseless girl. But tell me: what if he and his servant thought you had something to do with the attack? What would Arthur put first: his loyalty to the king or his affection for you?”

Morgana turned her gaze away from Morgause and let the tears rain down her cheeks. She felt so hurt and humiliated, yet she hated she was crying and she hated the fact that Morgause could see her cry. _Could it be true? Could my only friends turn their backs on me?_

 _I swore to him you'd never challenge his authority again,_ Arthur’s confession sounded in her head _. I swore that you'd learned your lesson. Tread carefully. Next time, I may not be able to help you._

_Next time. Next time. Did he think it was the next time? Did he think it was me who had something to do with the attack? You're the only one who's not been affected, Morgana. There must be a reason!_

Morgause held her hands: the witch's fingers were slim and tender, but as cold as the winter air.

“Why wasn’t I asleep?” Morgana was battling the last traces of tears in her voice.

“Because you were wearing my healing bracelet, remember? I gave it to you. It was all my fault, sister. I meant to kill Uther with the knights of Medihr. They would've never harmed you, I enchanted them. After serving Uther the justice he deserved, I meant to escape the castle with you. However, the prince and his silly servant somehow arrived earlier, even though they were not supposed to survive the fight with the knights of Medihr. Arthur spoiled all the careful planning I had invested into that attack. Don’t you worry, sister. The prince is dead, and so is Uther. Some say he died because he fell while running down the stairs, hurrying to see his dead heir. Others believe he collapsed in front of the cart when it was brought to the northern gates. There are those who say it was the grief that ensured his passing. Whatever happened, Uther’s dead, of that we’re sure.”

“Arthur’s too skilled to have died in the patrol,” Morgana was still trying to digest the news. “He… was strong, or so he seemed…”

“He was outnumbered, his patrol group had no more than five men.”

“And Merlin? What’s with Merlin?” Morgana asked, not sure what answer she was anticipating.

“He must be dead, too. His body was never found, they probably have fed him to the dogs. Sister, you must rest. We shall ride out before dawn on the morrow, we have a long way ahead.”

“Where will we go?” Morgana asked, feeling how her eyelids were closing as Morgause pressed her lips towards her forehead.

“We shall travel to Andor. The druids are gathering, and we must attend.”

***

She woke up from the caring touch of Morgause.

“Sister,” she whispered. “It is time. We must not hesitate, for the druids will hardly wait long.”

Her sleep was odd; it felt that she had just closed her eyes when she heard Morgause’s voice. Yet she was as strong as though she had never been poisoned, never been hanged between life and death. _How have I survived?_

“Morgause, did _you_ save me?” she asked, stretching her arms.

“All in due time, sister, all in due time. We must hurry.”

“Why?” Morgana frowned. She didn’t like that her attempts to find the truth were thwarted. “Where do we hurry?”

“Sister, Uther is dead, and the new king leads the soldiers to fight a war in Brechfa. Druids are rising up against the new king, and we must not miss this chance.”

“People are rising up against Camelot?” Morgana was pleasantly surprised, remembering how kindly she had been treated in the druids’ settlement.

“They are, and we must join them before it is too late. However,” Morgause fixed her eyes on her, and Morgana responded with an open and sincere gaze. “sister, I must ask you. You are safe now. Your health is no longer endangered. You can go back to Camelot and live at court, just like…”

“I’d rather die a free woman on the run than spend my days in the cage that is Camelot,” Morgana didn’t let her sister finish the question. “Even here, without all my possessions, I feel free, and I’ll never willingly give up on my freedom.”

Morgause could not have looked any more pleased. She led Morgana out of the cave, in the narrow passage between two dark-grey, moss-covered rocks. Morgana glanced at the crystal cave over her shoulder: a strange place, the keeper of the ancient magic secrets shared by the faint crystal glow. Those were the secrets Morgana could hear but couldn’t understand.

Outside, they were welcomed by the murky world of the deep-night twilight, the cries of owls and the wind twisting the sounds of the forest into the blood-freezing fantasies of the nightmares.

“Owl’s hour,” Morgause said mystifyingly.

Morgana could see the stone wall in front of her. Apparently, there was some narrow passage between the rocks which led to the mouth of the crystal cave, and two saddled horses were waiting for them. Morgana tilted he head to appreciate the void of the night sky for the first time in what seemed ages. The starlight was deaf that night.

“How long have I been here?”

“It took a fool moon cycle to heal you, sister,” Morause said, helping Morgana mount the horse. “One moon cycle, and one extra day for you to rest and drink my potion.”

Morgana could hardly believe it. Her body seemed as strong as after the secret sword practice, she could control every move and found no trouble mounting the horse and grabbing the bridles. Her condition inspired admiration for the magic of Morgause.

“I’ve forgotten to thank you, Morgause. Thank you for taking me away, and for saving me.”

“I would never let him harm you, sister. I’m sorry it took so long, but now, we can rejoice.”

Morgause's eyes flashed in the dead of the night, and the horses raced into gallop, as though they heard some command which Morgana did not.

Morgana couldn’t understand why she felt so much excitement and risk flowing through her veins. The horse wasn’t taking her away from the crystal cave: she was racing through the darkness into the new world, into the new life, the life without Uther and without fear of losing her head for being born with magic. She didn’t care that she was not directing her horse anywhere, the animal was carrying her because of Morgause’s magic. She was free, free for the first time in so many years, free from those stupid knights who would laugh at her holding a sword, free from the smirking ladies of the court who would judge her new dress, free from the people who would call her friend and not hesitate to give her poison.

_I will be me, I will learn who I am, I will practice magic. Magic, the force Uther tried to paint as the cruel beast that was aiming to clutch at the throat of the kingdom, the force he was afraid of, the force that challenged his power. Oh, Uther, how the mighty have fallen. The only thing I regret is that I wasn’t in the room to see you pass. You’ve caused so much suffering, you’ve been killing those people, day after day, year after year… But no more! No more will I dread, no more will people tremble at the sound of your name! We shall all be free!_

Morgana felt the tears of joy raining from her eyes, carried on by the wind. There was no bitterness in her thought, no sadness of saying goodbye and parting with her castle life forever. She was overwhelmed with the sense of liberation, the preview of the sweet feeling of gaining full control over her actions.

They had ridden through a couple of villages, small and cozy, enwrapped into the peaceful sleep of summer night before the dogs started barking at the two shrouded and hooded riders. As the blackness began to turn dark-grey, Morgana saw the giant shadows of the mountains ahead, their tops brighter than the sky.

“We’re going to cross the White Mountains?” Morgana shouted.

“There’s a mountain path,” Morgause shouted back. “It leads to Howden. We’ll ride to Howden, and then to Greenswood!”

***

The path, although writhing and treacherous, didn’t seem to frighten the horses. The mountain slopes were made of grey stones and dry-brown earth, and the wind was nowhere as gentle as the July sun which, having vanquished the darkness, was trying to warm the air of the highlands.

As the horses kept running northward, the scenery became more obscure, the grass disappearing from both sides of the narrow path and from the mountain slopes, the trees no longer seen and the cliff coming dangerously close to the path, so close Morgana grabbed the bridle harder, even though aware of the horse’s special powers.

Not before the sun was high in the sky had Morgause asked them to stop. The horses slowed down, in the middle of the mountain path, with a view over the hill-wrinkled plain that extended vast, reaching the horizon to the east. The vapid scenery still stirred Morgana’s excitement.

“Can this be true?” she asked, dismounting her horse. “Can you believe that all this vast land is now free and…”

“Free?” Morgause’s abrupt objection made the ground slip from under Morgana’s feet. “Sister, you must be wise. Thinking that Uther and Arthur have made this land free by merely dying is foolish. The twenty-two years which have passed since the prince’s birth were filled with terror, cruelty, violence and fear, and the Purge didn’t leave only victims. The Purge also left his butchers, his hangmen, his slaughterers, his precious knights, the people who lit the stakes, who wielded the swords when beheading innocent sorcerers and witches, the murderers, I call them. So long as they live there is, sadly, a chance for the future where Uther’s loyalists reignite the hatred of Uther and continue his course, or start another purge. I will fight against such future, and so will you, and all the people who value their freedom. This is what freedom is: fighting against your foe with devotion and strength in heart as well as in mind.”

Morgause’s words brought her down to earth and made her blush from her own charming naivety. _Of course, Uther could not have committed all the evil with his own hands. He could not possibly have beheaded and burnt all those people just on his own. There were those who followed his commands, those who did the dirty work. And there were also those who stood there and watched innocent people suffer._ It was painful to experience the crash of the hopeful strives of her soul.

“But it’s better that he’s dead, isn’t it?”

“It certainly is,” Morgause’s toughness was gone at once. “We shall not pretend that Uther’s death is not a cause for celebration, and I am sure the druids will meet us with a great feast – well, you at least. But there is a different king to sit the throne now. He seems to be more preoccupied with the matters of war, fortunately for us, and he is still to demonstrate his position on the issue of magic.”

“What if he’s not against it?”

“A king who is not against the ban on magic?” Morgause’s mouth was twisted in a disdainful smirk. “He’s surrounded by Uther’s men, he commands Uther’s knights, he is the king of Uther’s small folk. Lifting the ban on magic may be his undoing, for all we know. And from what I’ve managed to gather, he already renounced Lady Gedref’s lordship over her castle because she hadn’t destroyed the Labyrinth of Gedref.”

“What’s this labyrinth?”

“A place of ancient and mighty magic,” Morgause said thoughtfully. “Some magic I can’t come to understand…”

“It’s dangerous? For us? For people?”

“Dangerous? Why, of course not. Unless you attempt to destroy it, I suppose. Which is why I would gladly see the new king try and bring the labyrinth down. It's a peculiar thing, sister. Nobody had ever come across this labyrinth for a long time. It was discovered by one of the priestesses not long before the Purge… Some said it was because we, the priestesses, tried to penetrate the labyrinth’s mysteries that we summoned the curse which resulted in a Purge, but that’s naturally nonsense. The labyrinth has been purposefully concealed from the curious eye – so much is true. Concealed with powerful sorcery. What does it hide? It is the mystery beyond our greatest minds.”

_The labyrinth. The priestesses. The curses and the mysteries. I know nothing about it, but I want to be a part of this world, that’s what my heart tells me. I want to be studying magic._

“You’ll teach me magic, won’t you?” Morgana inquired nervously.

“It will be the highest honor for me,” Morgause replied, her voice perfumed with joy. “There is nothing more precious in this world than to pass the ancient knowledge of the blessed. Not that you could find another mentor even if you wanted to, for I am the last of my kind, thanks to…”

Her voice caught off. Morgana noticed the strange shadow of fear eclipse Morgause’s face, and the bright summer air faded all of a sudden. _Thanks to who?_ _Last of her kind? But I thought there are plenty of other sorcerers and witches?_

“What? Morgause?”

“Sister, you must hear the truth now, for it would be wrong to hide it any longer. I don’t think that you remember me at all. I was a little girl of four the year you we born, and when I was six, the Purge began. I was smuggled out of the castle, thanks to mother and her friend, the court healer.”

“Court healer? Gaius?”

“His name is something I have forgotten, sister. But it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I was meant to be brought to the Isle of The Blessed, but by the time I arrived, the Isle was nothing but burning ruins.”

“What’s the Isle of the Blessed?”

“It is a place where, since the ancient time, the tribes of Meredoc guard the secrets of magic, preserve and broaden the horizons of our knowledge and keep the followers safe. It’s an ancient cult, and I was meant to become a priestess.”

“A priestess?”

“A priestess, a high priestess – someone responsible for the Isle of the Blessed and for keeping its tradition, the woman of supreme power. But my training could not be the same, for the Isle was burnt and many people died, and more secrets of magic died with them.”

“Burnt? Uther burnt the who Isle?”

“His cruelty is unmeasurable. But sister, it’s not about Uther’s cruelty. It’s about the fact that when I had you in my arms, when you were dying from poison… There could be other ways, of course, I would have known them, perhaps, had my training been complete, but since it was not… I knew of only one way to save you from certain death.”

“Which was?”

“Initiation. As a high priestess myself, I had the power to turn you into a priestess, too. I could not do it against your will, but I asked you a question the night before the attack: were you with Uther or were you with me? I trust that your answer has permitted me to initiate you and…”

“Initiate me? You mean to tell I am now a high priestess? But that’s impossible! I... I...oh, I know nothing, can do nothing, I have no idea about the traditions, I know nothing about this Isle cult, nothing, I can’t hope to keep your traditions if I know as little as…”

“You will learn everything when the time comes.”

“How did it help you to save me? Turning me into a priestess?”

“We become priestesses by offering our blood, flesh and bones to the Triple Goddess. I’ve offered your blood to the Triple Goddess in the Pool of Neheimt, and it worked. The poison, the hemlock, sister, it was in your blood. Initiation starts with offering your blood to the Triple Goddess, and if the Goddess accepts it, she makes your blood pure and strong, so that no poison can kill you. Are you angry with me, sister?”

“Angry for what? For making me a High Priestess?”

“Yes. The ancient craft of priestess is not an easy and carefree job. A lot must be learnt and a lot must be practiced.”

“I’m not angry. I have magic, it’s part of who I am. I’d be happy to help us preserve some traditions. I just hope I’ll be better at serving as High Priestess than I was at pretending a king’s ward, I…”

“Morgana, with my help, you will be the Priestess this land needs. Now come, we must hurry. The enchantment will make these horses take us to Greenswood, and there, we’ll have to find new ones. Off we go!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, chapters are a bit thicker in this fic, so I think I'll be posting two chapters each week <3  
> But it will depend on the storyline, of course! :D  
> Let's make it Monday or Tuesday with "The Guiding Star".  
> And feel free to share links to this fic on any platform if you like it <3


	4. Gwen 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The chapter speaks of Gwen's days after she had been caught during the meeting with Gwaine and Modron in the Tavern of the Rising Sun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen POV 
> 
> Graphic depictions of violence

~~~~**Chapter 3: Promised Doom**

It felt as though she was wearing an additional pair of lips. So odd, unreal and unnatural felt her own dried skin that she refused to believe it was a part of her body. She blamed it on some treacherous magic trick that made her lips get drier than the autumn leaves, but somewhere beneath them there were real ones, there had to be, just like somewhere beneath this perilous darkness there had to be some sunlight.

_Somewhere there is no darkness. There ought be sunlight, there ought be children playing, and people sharing stories over a pint of ale, happy families, happy farmers. Summer’s the best season. I must not forget about summer._

However, summer was harder and harder to remember, for nothing in the darkness of her cell could possibly remind her of whatever season that reigned beyond the walls. Right after Gwaine and Modron escaped the Tavern of the Rising Sun, the guards which came to seize them switched to her, for it was her they were talking to the whole time.

 _How many days ago did it happen?_ _Sure it must be about days already. Not hours, but days. Not weeks, though. Days, it happened two or three days ago. How am I supposed to bloody track time? With nothing, neither light nor sound in this damned place?_

_There was nothing Lancelot could do, of course. They’d rack him. Can’t blame him for that, can I? Would I feel better now if he had died protecting me in the tavern? Hardly ever. Nothing can make it better._

The way they grabbed her and dragged her out of the tavern, as though she was a dangerous renegade – that didn’t surprise Gwen. After all, they had to somehow make up for letting the boys run away. Yet she’d be lying if she said that she wasn’t surprised she was being followed.

Gwen simply didn’t understand, couldn't understand Rion’s and Yrien’s ways. Why did they have to make everything complicated beyond the point of reason? _I am a simple servant, in fact, I am nothing but a simple servant for them. And a witness, because it was me who poured Uther the poisoned wine. Why didn't they kill me isntantly? Maybe Gaius’s protection managed to keep them from expected reprisal? But now, what can now keep them from cutting my throat in this place? I bet few people in the castle even know that cells at such depth exist. Nobody’d look for me here._

Silence had been her only threat for the past two or three days she’d spent in the cells. She loved to think it had been just two days, because three seemed a lot less hopeful. _What if they chose to kill me in such a brutal fashion? To let me die from thirst in the cells where nobody’d hear me scream? Oh, Goddess, help me, help me…_

That nobody could hear her screams was a matter of fact, for if they could, she’d have been visited by someone already. Some time ago, when she had woken up with her lips so dry they hurt and her waterless tongue burning her spitless mouth, she thought of screaming, and scream she did. _They gave me nothing to drink..._ She didn’t expect a royal supper anyhow, but the realziation that they hadn't even given her some water made her shudder on the floor, trying to embrace her own knees and whispering the names of all the people that were or used to be dear to her.

She thought of her mother, but her memories never seemed full and vivid enough to make her relive that feeling, that sense of protection mixed with curiosity and adventurous spree that used to feel her heart on those spring days when she was a little girl. _When Mum was alive, I was as crazy as a spring deer, father used to say, hard to control and running more than girls were supposed to._ _Even Elyan couldn’t catch up with me when we’d have fights._

They were all gone. Her mother died during the siege of Camelot in the Mercian war, her brother had left when he and her dad had a huge fight over which road Elyan should pick to settle his own future; her father was later executed by Uther’s guards because of an unlawful king’s order, Morgana escaped the castle with her sister Morgause, and Gaius was put under detention.

Merlin and Arthur were the only ones that were supposed to be alive, no matter what the stupid drunkards at the taverns would say about the prince. But they were somewhere far away and she didn’t expect them to tear down the walls of this cell and come rescue her. The thought about Merlin and Arthur having somehow survived the assassination couldn’t ease her sufferings and did little to bring light into the obscurity that was creeping into her thoughts, her sensations, her feelings. _It’s over._

For hours and maybe days in that darkness, she remained faithful to her own promises. The day when Lady Yrien paid a visit to Gaius's chambers and when the old physician chose to hide Gwen in his wardrobe, she thought she would change it all. She stood firm in her decision to never let anybody use her again in the games of court. Gwen swore that she would take full responsibility for what was happening in the castle because Uther owed his death to her efforts. She started thinking of ways to protect Arthur, even though she wasn't sure Arthur still lived to be protected. 

And as though life treated her promises as some japes, three days after she had tried to summon new hope into her life, Gwen found herself in a lightless cell, rotting, abandoned and mistreated by the new authority of the castle, the authority that reigned because of her own help.  _It’s over._

She realized it had been over the moment she started pressing her lips towards the walls of the cell, trying to find some moisture to lick and somehow fight the thirst, the thirst that seemed to be turning her throat into a dusty brick. When she realized she was acting like some animal, she fell on the floor and started weeping, shaking and vomiting, she started to scream so loud her voice caught off just after a couple of minutes. She started hitting the walls and the bars with her hands, her fists, she demanded to be heard, to be released, to be treated like a human being. But nobody heard her, nobody released her and nobody came to treat her as a living being. Abandoned, she surrendered to the odd sensation of lightness that somehow replaced the headache, and fell on the floor, not quite ready to die, but helpless to fight.

She hated herself for that helplessness, for she had promised she’d be stronger. _But how can I be strong here, in the utter darkness, when all I can think of is that I’d betray everybody for a drop of water?_

She decided to keep lying on the floor, for what reason was there in sitting or standing? She kept rolling on the floor from side to side, trying to think what would kill her first: madness or thirst? Sometimes she would faint and regain consciousness after the stomach would make heavy sounds. She’d piss and shit in the corner of the room.

When she was thinking about Merlin and Arthur and about what the two could be planning, she got frightened by the screeching clangorous noise, the scream of metal that came from somewhere, and the next moment her eyes closed from terrible pain that ensued the glow of fire light. The steps came next, so loud – or maybe everything seemed loud after days of silence. 

“Oh, dear. Look at you. Having fun lying on the floor in your own shit and piss. What a sight. What a terrible sight," the voice was coming from a woman, her tone was flooded with mockery which didn't seem funny for a second.  "Look at me. Why won’t you? Oh, for the sake of it, Ratcatch, get that torch out of sight. Put it there. Gwen, this is Racath. Ratcatch, meet Gwen.”

“Who are you?” Gwen demanded with a heavily hoarsed voice. 

“Have you lost your mind already? I hope not, for your own sake.”

After somebody carried the torch farther away, it took Gwen some time to wait for the pain to be gone from her eyes, and before long, her eyelids rose and permitted a sight of a familiar silhouette on the other side of the cell bars. The woman had brushed out her long auburn hair with oil until it shone, and she was wrapped in the nices silks of blue. 

“Lady Yrien?”

“Oh, it’s so good of you to keep those manners, but darling, really, you are allowed to address me however you desire. I don’t care.”

_She doesn't care? Doesn't care about my manners? Why? Am I supposed to survive this meeting? Who is Ratcatch?_

“Water… please…” Gwen whispered, approaching the bars, dropping to her knees and stretching her arms humbly.

“Oh, darling, I’ve brought water," Lady Yrien assured her. "I’ve brought a whole waterskin. I've been told the conditions for those kept in the dragon's cells are awful.”

_Dragon's cells?_

“Please… drink… please…” Gwen cared about nothing but one sweet drop of water on her tongue, the drop that would end her suffering and free her of all the wretched things about the world. 

“Darling, I will give you water, but see, let’s put it this way. I must get some knowledge fist.”

“Drink…drink…”

“If you answer my questions, you’ll drink as much as you wish. Did you understand?”

“Drink… please, give me water…”

“I asked: did you understand or not?!” Yrien's mockery was all but gone, and the sudden change in her tone suggested her acting couldn't be lasting for long. It was, after all, not the desire for mockery that had brought the king's sister into the dragon's cells. 

“I did, my lady.”

“Good," she said, taking the waterskin into her right hand.  "Now tell me, Gwen, and do so honestly: who were two men you met in the tavern?”

“It was a lad and his friend.”

“What lad?”

_I must protect Arthur. Arthur has risked for me. He has risked for so many people. He was a good lad. He didn't deserve to be butchered in the forest. I will not let them harm Arthur._

“Orson was his name.”

“And his friend?”

“I don’t remember his friend’s name. Something with M. Mortyr maybe?” Gwen threw an assumption into the air, as if the meeting at the tavern, where she had learnt that there had been no Cenred's army in Brechfa and that Arthur stayed alive, meant nothing to her. 

“How can’t you remember the name of Orson's friend?”

“Please, my lady, I tell you. Orson just came to me on the street. He gave me a flower. He wanted to learn my name. Told me I was a princess.”

“A lie too fat even for a stupid crow like you to believe in it," Yrien laughed almost sincerely when she thought somebody might call Gwen a princess. "So you say this Orson came out of the blue and asked you out and you were ready to jump onto his sheets?”

Gwen began to shake her head hysterically.

“I wasn’t about to jump anywhere! I was a good girl, my lady, I know my manners and…”

“You lying little wench!" Yrien's hand hit the bars which boomed as if a wall slammed by a catapulted stone. "We were keeping an eye on you day and night! You were leading a life of some hermit for days, for more than a week since Uther's death, and then you suddenly chose to pay a visit to a tavern with some stranger you’ve met on the street? Liar! Who was he?”

“Orson! He was Orson, my lady!” Gwen could no longer hold her tears back; there was something about Yrien's attitude that left little space to believe Gwen was meant to survive this meeting and get out of this cell. 

“Liar! Have you met him before?!”

“No, my lady, I swear to you, I’d never met him before that wicked day, never!”

“What did he tell you? Did he tell you anything about Arthur?”

“No, no, for Goddess sake, no!”

“Liar! Why would he fight my guards then? He was an enemy, an enemy of the king and traitor! Just like you are. You’ve disappointed me, Gwen,” Yrien said and opened the waterskin, letting the liquid run onto the floor.

Gwen shrieked from the most terrible and brutal sight that was unwrapping before her very eyes; she flung herself at the cell's bars, trying to slide her arms between the bars and get a good grip on Lady Yrien's hair. There was nothing she wished more in that minute than to grab her by the oiled auburn glow and slam Lady Yrien's head against the bars, keep slamming it until she bled and her skin was torn and her flesh and skull were open and she would drown in the pool of her own blood. 

Her arms, however long they seemed to Gwen, could not reach Lady Yrien, who was standing too far away, pouring water onto the mud-covered floor. Her blue silks made rustling sounds against the stone as she made a step back, caught unawares by Gwen's brute pursuit of vengeance. Gwen then fell on the floor, and started praying that the pool of water would somehow reach the floor of her cell, so that she could taste it, would taste, needed to taste it...

“NO! NO!" she shrieked again, seeing Lady Yrien throw the waterskin away. "Please, my lady, please, I beg you! Water!”

“Ratcatch, come here,” Yrien said, her eyes meeting Gwen's to cast a wall of scornfulness that let Gwen know her doom was sealed. 

The man who appeared from behind the wall was gaunt and grim, hollow-cheeked and with eyes that seemed empty. He glanced at Gwen and opened his mouth; Gwen realized he had no tongue and a terror more overwhelming than any other fear Gwen had ever felt filled her mind, for it seemed that death herself was looking at her from the ugly mutilated mouth.

“My lady, why, what have I done?! Please, my lady, please…”

“Tear her nails," Yrien commanded in a light manner, as if she was making orders for dinner. "One by one. Don't stop until she learns to tell the truth.”

The man unlocked the cells with the key he had fished out of his pocket, and before Gwen could think of fighting, he grabbed her by the hair and dragged her out of the cell, making her scream until Lady Yrien slapped her on the face.

“Who was that man? Tell me, you vile bitch!” Yrien repeated. 

“I DON”T KNOW, MY LADY! PLEASE, TELL HIM TO STOP, MY LADY!”

Gwen felt her index finger on the left hand being seized by some weird iron instrument, a tool which had been designed precisely to achieve what Lady Yrien was planning to achieve: make people talk. The pain that ensued made Gwen nearly faint and she flung herself at Lady Yrien's feet, begging for mercy. 

“MY LADY, PLEASE! PLEASE, I DON’T DESERVE THIS, GODDESS KNOWS I DON’T… HE SPOKE OF ARTHUR, HE DID!”

“Hold it, Ratcatch," Yrien sounded worried. "What did he say?”

“He… said… Arthur…was....a....wraith...now...just...like...his...uncle....”

Gwen fell on the floor, the last powers gone from her body. She closed her eyes and praid she'd faint before they would kill her.

"Oh, I'm seriously tired of this girl. Now, Ratcatch, please, get rid of…”

“What is the meaning of this, mother?”

It was a different voice: soft and young, but strong and furied. 

“Rion?" Yrien screamed, terrified. "Rion, you’re not supposed to be visiting this part of castle! Who let you in?”

“Leave us. I said leave us! Now!”

Gwen heard the steps' echo fade. _Ratcatch's gone. Oh, Goddess..._ She dared not lift her head, dared not display any signs of being alive. 

“Rion, your behaviour can’t be tolerated so long as…”

“You raise your hand to touch me, mother, and I swear, I swear you’ll regret it…”

“How are you talking to your own mother?!" Yrien tone was desperately grasping for some authority over her son, but it was clear, at least to Gwen, that now, sharing a part in the murder of Uther, Rion was no longer the boy that had arrived to Camelot nearly three weeks ago. "Have you forgotten who I am?!”

“I knew this," Rion was purposefully ignoring his mother's question. "I knew you’d do something terrible to her, even though you've promised not to. Brings me so much joy my mother didn’t fail my expectations.” 

“Why are you here?”

“To tell you I’m going hunting now. Everything’s prepared. I’ll come back the day after tomorrow, the same day uncle comes from war. If you do something to Gwen, something to hurt her, you will regret the day you chose to come to this castle. I will turn your life into a living hell, the hell where all the horrors of your nightmares will let loose. You understand me?”

“You’re getting smatter ever day, I see,” there was the most gruesome thing Gwen could expect to distinguish in Yrien's voice; Yrien was gloating over the fact that Rion needed to let his darker side rise in order to defy his own mother. 

“I’ve got someone like you to learn from. When I return to the castle, I expect to see Gwen well fed and healthy, living her ordinary life in her ordinary house and not followed anymore. If she’s not…”

“I could’ve locked you in a cell to let your temper cool.”

“You could’ve, if only you’ve brought more people down here… Unfortunately for you, by the time you reach guards, I will be in the Darkling Woods already."

"You knew I'd be without guards here."

"But how could you have guards, mother? This is a secret place, and a secret discussion. And you could only take our bloody torturer with you, our family’s most beloved man for keeping secrets – hard to tell secrets when your tongue had long been cut out, right?”

“Rion, she’s... is dangerous. If Arthur...”

“Arthur’s a wraith, mother.”

“Oh, Rion, this tale’s meant…”

“Arthur is a _wraith_ ," Rion repeated with a steel firmness. "Whatever a wraith says, we must not fear.”

“You will regret it soon. A prince you may be, yet it’s still long before you come of age and can legitimately become the heir to the throne.”

"I can't be a crown prince before twenty-one. But I can be the heir since sixteen, which is rather soon. And why do you worry so much about my title?"

"I..."

“Careful, mother. One can begin to think you’re planning to win the throne for yourself. I will go now. Can’t stand the sight of this poor girl tortured for nothing. You’re a real beast, mother, but she will not be your prey.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Morgana chapters coming tomorrow and on Monday <3


	5. Merlin 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Merlin needs Gaius to learn how to solve the sunstone riddle, he continues his journey to Camelot with the newfound companions and Gwaine. When they stop for the night, Merlin encounters something magical.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

**Chapter 4: Love In The Time Of Dragons**

Much as he was interested in finding out where the druids were gathering, he could also feel that Pliny was keeping an eye on his daughter, trying to make sure she wouldn’t spill too much about their destination. Merlin remembered too well that he and Arthur had met Sophia and her Sidhe father under nearly the same circumstances, and thus tried to exercise the highest level of cautiousness against Pliny and Bo, the newfound companions he and Gwaine had just rescued. However, the more they kept walking along the widening forest, the less suspicious the druid couple seemed. They did seem a bit secretive at first, but after all, Merlin realized the druids had every good reason to remain secretive in the land where they had been persecuted ever since the Great Purge.

The hills were rising lower and lower as they kept walking, having no other option but to listen to Gwaine’s stories about his previous summer, when he used to work in Brechfa.

“… and then I tell ‘em, I tell ‘em: I haven’t drunk a drop of your cider! It must’ve been your horse! Go let her out and see how straight she can run, and then I fell off my chair!”

Gwaine’s roar of laughter made Pliny jump, and he seemed to have rolled his eyes, rather dismissively. Bo, on the contrary, found Gwaine’s tales most amusing.

“I can’t believe you’ve managed to make it out alive of all those incidents!” she said, showering him with a praising gaze.

“Not everyone can do that, I reckon, I mean, to be through all these things and still end up walking this forest path in such a pleasant company.”

Merlin raised his eyebrow. _Is he trying to be gallant with her?_

“The pleasure is mine,” Bo returned, smilingly.

Pliny shook his head.

In a matter of hours, the darkness around them got so thick they couldn’t see far, and Merlin hesitated to use magic in front of total strangers. They walked off the path to choose a spot for the night camp. Merlin spent some time gathering the wood and building the fire, and Gwaine was helping Pliny and Bo with their bags. Luckily, there was a moment when nobody was looking at him and Merlin had the chance to light up the fire. The flames, warmly red, were rising low, sending waves of grey-black smoke in the air. The world around them was as though half-visible, shadows of night intertwined with the high towers of trees, and the impenetrable darkness overhead seemed to have swallowed the sky.

“We’ve got plenty of food,” Merlin said, as he sat down beside the fire, next to Gwaine, who began to smell strongly, for some reason. Bo and Pliny sat opposite. “My mother packed so much, like we’re traveling to the edge of the world.”

“Where does your mother live?” Pliny wondered, speaking to Merlin for the first time. The old man's tiny baldness was glistening in the fire light. 

“In Ealdor,” Merlin replied. 

“But how have the two of you turned up in Northern Ascetir if you are walking from Ealdor? The way to Camelot from Ealdor lies through Isgaard and Southern Ascetir, I thought?”

“We used the ridge of Ascetir. There are tunnels there, see and…”

“You’ve walked through tunnels?!” the old man’s eyes, bruised from the recent attack, widened and made his face's muscles twitch from pain. “It’s impossible!”

“Merlin grew up in those tunnels, he knows them too well to get lost,” Gwaine, who was struggling to take his eyes off Bo, jumped into their conversation. 

“Yeah,” Merlin caught Gwaine’s direction of lies. “During bad harvest years, we had to rely on Ascetir’s help, and the ridge tunnels were the safest routs to bring us wheat, grain  and salted meat, you know.”

“But if Uther ever… I mean, you’ve been trespassing the border of Camelot!” the old man exclaimed.

“Cenred never cared about our village and that region. We had little land, and we had to somehow survive.”

“Father, I don’t think Merlin did anything wrong," Bo's voice seemed mild and caring. "People would’ve starved if he…”

“That wasn’t wrong, that’s not what I meant," Pliny flushed. "He just risked a great deal!”

“Druids also risk a great deal in the land of Camelot,” Merlin tried not to sound mean. “We’ve heard terrible rumours.”

“Sadly, these rumours are most often true,” despite all the colours the fire flames were casting on Pliny’s face, the old man seemed to have aged when he spoke those words. “I wish they were just rumours, but we have been growing less and less in numbers every year. Earlier this year, for instance, I heard the king raided our camp because he believed we kidnapped his ward! Nonsense! Druids are peaceful and harmless people, mistreated because of the king’s weird superstitions.”

Merlin's mouth went dry. _That's when Morgana found out she had magic. I've advised her to visit the druids. I could've told her a lot myself, I could've explained something, but I didn't, because Gaius thought my magic identity had to remain a secret. Everything could've been so different if only I..._

“You’re brave enough to speak ill about the king, I like that,” Gwaine was enjoying his loaf of bread and ham.

“The dead king, you meant to say,” Pliny nodded, acknowledging Merlin’s kindness as the young warlock handed the old man some bread and cottage cheese. “Now that Uther’s dead, we can speak openly about how he mistreated us. I’ve raised my daughter, and she inherited the fear of Uther with her mother’s milk, I tell you. You fellows don’t have anything against the druids?”

“Nothing. Mum says you’re great healers,” Merlin said with a notion of respect to his voice.

“That’s one of our main talents,” Bo was beaming. “A pity people are more afraid than curious, because healing was one of the main ways for us to earn some coins back in the days... People often reported us to the local knights when we offered some help to the sick people… But now that the new days are dawning and Emrys…”

“Bo, how many times do I have to tell you?” her father raised his voice, angrily.

“What’s wrong?” Gwaine exchanged looks with Merlin, who had to pretend he was as clueless about Emrys as his companion.

“Forgive me, father. I thought they are good people and it won’t be any trouble…”

“We mustn’t force out beliefs on other people, remember? I’m sure the fellows are not keen on the old beliefs, right? And I think it’s getting late. Why don’t we all try to have some sleep?”

“I shall put the fire out,” Gwaine suggested.

The flames hissed angrily when watered, and erupted with the thickest puffs of smoke before the silence fell over the forest. Merlin, laying on the ground, tried to fall asleep, recalling the beautiful ride form Gedney to Camelot with Arthur.

It was the first night in more than a month which he would spend so far from Arthur. Merlin was staring into the blackness of the forest sky, trying to peek beyond the black clouds where the stars were surely flickering. _They must be._

Although everything was happening so fast between Merlin and Arthur since their journey to Ascetir, the only time Merlin had shared a proper bed with Arthur and the only time they had fallen asleep together was in that Gedney tavern. After their awkward love making, Merlin lay close to Arthur, wrapping his right leg around Arthur's thighs and pressing greedy, savoring kisses to Arthur's shoulder, chest and arms, Arthur's jaw line and his tired, yet sensitive lips. Arthur was exhausted after the forest incident and being attacked by the troll, and of course the prince had every right to demand that Merlin let him have some well-deserved sleep, but Merlin could do nothing about himself.

The experience of physical closeness with Arthur had unleashed some unquenchable thirst within Merlin, and he couldn’t make himself fall asleep as their body heat was mingling, he could only trace his fingers along the smooth and rawness of Arthur’s skin. His heart was beating faster when he could feel, with the growing pressure against his palm, that Arthur was growing hard again when Merlin tried to squeeze his cock and stroke it lightly, and he loved watching Arthur’s chest rise a bit higher when Merlin’s hand was on the prince’s cock. _I love you_ , Merlin whispered. _I can see that by how you can't keep your hands off my cock_ , Arthur said with a smile that could make Merlin’s heart stop. _Not that I mind, but Merlin, let's get some sleep. We have almost a day of ride ahead of us. The road through the forests and hills is a slow one._

 _Why couldn’t that road be slower? Why couldn’t that road last the whole day?_ Merlin remembered sharing the saddle with Arthur, with Prince’s hands fixed possessively on Merlin’s hips and the bulge in his trousers pressing right into Merlin’s bottom. Arthur was acting savagely the whole journey, whispering naughty things about how he’d do Merlin later, how he’d make Merlin understand what it was like when he’d open Merlin and own him the way only he could. Merlin suggested they stopped and had it the quick way, but Arthur said they should save themselves for the proper fuck. 

Beneath the dark summer sky, Merlin realized he was ready to travel to the edge of the world and to fight thousands of griffins, witches, bandits and enemy’s knights in order to grant himself another peaceful day with Arthur.  _Arthur, wherever you are, be safe and be reasonable. You’ll have your time to be the hero this land needs, but all you’ve got to do now is to get to Nemeton without trouble. Without trouble, you heard me? Without trouble… Arhur… Nemeton…Gaius….Sunstone…_

***

Merlin woke up from a dreamless sleep in the dead of the night. The sensation that had stirred him was oddly familiar, although he could swear he must have carried some weird impression out of his dream. _But I saw no dreams. Or I don’t remember seeing dreams._

“Emrys,” the night forest whispered.

His hands turned cold, and he kept lying breathless, eyes wide open, ready to protect himself against the Cailleach. But the voice didn’t belong to her: it was unlike the sinister voice that blasted in the forest of Brechfa when the gatekeeper had come to demand the prince’s life. The voice calling for him now was soft, melodic and reminded him of a moonlight. He leaned on his elbows and raised his hand.

“Emrys… Emrys… Fear not…”

The last shades of fear were gone. Merlin stood up, carefully. Pliny was snoring on the ground; Gwaine and Bo were not there. _Has something happened to them?_ The forest was as dark as any place could be, but somewhere in the depth between the densely growing trees Merlin could distinguish the silver sparkling, as though the little stars were lit in the thicket.

“Emrys… Emrys…”

Merlin started walking slowly, trying to summon all the agility he possessed. The wood and fallen leaves would sometimes make noise under his feet, but overall, he thought he was moving rather stealthily, as though trained for serving in the patrol missions. When he seemed halfway on the way to the silver sparkling, he was stopped by the flash of white among the trees.

“I think I heard something…”

It was Bo’s whisper, there could be no doubt. It took Merlin a moment longer to distinguish that the pale white mass by the tree was actually Gwaine and Bo, their bodies united in an embrace, and the soft and wet sounds produced in the night air suggested they were kissing.

“It’s nothing. An owl or something. Don’t be afraid, you’re with me,” Gwaine whispered.

“Oh, Gwaine, we must not… My father… If he finds out… I haven’t been married, I must not…”

“There are other ways to pleasure each other. We can use our hands, you know,” Merlin saw Gwaine’s breeches fall to his ankles shamelessly, his hand guided Bo’s hand in between the heat of their bodies.

“How do you like that?” he inquired, not letting Bo answer by making his lips capture hers every time she attempted to say something.

“It’s so hard…”

“And you’re so soft, Bo…”

As his hand slid underneath Bo’s skirt, a moan of pleasure escaped Bo’s mouth and she had to press her hand to it.

Suddenly, Merlin realized the pressure was growing in his own pants, too, and his hand was… _Stop it, you idiot. You’ve heard a voice. Leave Gwaine and Bo to whatever they are up to._

It was easier to give a command than to obey it. Merlin was secretly hoping to hear Bo make another moan, but after all, he really had woken up because of a voice from the forest. He turned away and, keeping as quiet as possibly, continued his walk to the source of silver light.

It was coming from a weird pattern of streams on the ground, streams descending the neighboring hillside. There was nobody there, and no voice: just silver threads of water on the earth, sparkling and splattering.

Merlin thought of nothing better than touching the stream, pressing his hands into the chilly silver water. When he did, nothing seemed to happen, but after a moment, a wave started running across the stream, and suddenly, Merlin closed his eyes.

***

The night was no more. He saw a decorated hall with a narrow ceiling; people were at the table, they seemed to be celebrating something. The lady’s gowns seemed somewhat too revealing, but nobody seemed to be paying any attention to that. Ladies had jewels and silver rings in their hair, men had medallion belts, soft furs were on the walls, the tables were festive with feathers and bottles of expensive purple glass. People at the tables were smashing their iron goblets, drinking to something, and the music was loud, and the servants were carrying plates with meat, honey and grease into the room. It didn’t look like Camelot. Suddenly, he saw a boy of fourteen or fifteen sneak out of the hall, carefully. He was black-haired and gracefully slim, and looked rather sad. The roar of the hall grew unbearably loud, and the hall blurred and soon vanished.

The next thing Merlin saw was the same dark-haired boy walking through some field, hurrying as though chased by somebody, and in a moment Merlin saw another figure: a stiff-built and fair-haired youth older than the dark-haired angry boy whom Merlin had seen sneak out of the festive hall.

“You’ll be my squire now, ha! You heard that? _Squire_!” the fair-haired lad shouted and laughed, throwing what looked like a small stone into the dark-haired boy's back.

He turned around, with his fingers clenched into fists.

“I’ll never squire for you! You’re the worst and the most stupid, and my father’s king, you can’t make me, you can’t!”

“My father’s king, too, and you’ll be in our kingdom, you can do nothing about that!”

“I will fly away from here!” the dark-haired boy said threateningly and kept on running.

“You can’t! You can’t command a dragon, I know you can’t! Not before your father…”

The fair-haired boy couldn’t finish his phrase, because the dark-haired lad threw himself at his chaser, and they both dropped to the ground, fighting, combating, cursing and swearing at each other.

As they were rolling on the ground, Merlin’s vision blurred again, and the dark and fair shades of their hair transformed into the azure of the vast sea sheets, rippled by gentle breeze, and the dark-grey cliff, with rocks sticking out into the sea. The dark-haired boy and the fair-haired one were there, alone, with swords in their hands.

“Let’s look into your courage when you’re not biting and scratching me like a girl that you are,” the fair-haired one said spitefully and challengingly. “Show me what you can do with a sword, try me.”

“If you’re so brave, why don’t we fight there?” the dark-haired boy nodded at the edge of the cliff. “Too frightened, baby-prince?”

“Grab your sword,” the fair-haired one seemed happy to accept the challenge.

Merlin watched them fight, repressing the desire to scream; so close were they both to the edge of the cliff, to falling from the rocks sticking out into the sea, and so careless they seemed as steel kissed steel. The dark-haired one was struggling: he was barely able to defend himself, stepping back with every move. Suddenly, the fair-haired boy lost his balance, and fell off the cliff, but the next moment it looked as though two invisible hands had grabbed him by the pants and by the tunic, and had brought him safely onto the ground. He sword fell into the sea, and when the boy was placed on the ground by his invisible savior, he threw an angry look at his opponent.

The scene sank into darkness again, and Merlin appeared in the bedroom, rather lavishly-styled, and the dark-haired boy was sitting on the edge of his bed, his face hidden behind his hands. Somebody entered the room without knocking: it was that fair-haired boy.

“Why can’t you leave me be?” the dark-haired boy asked angrily.

“Listen, I just came to say thank you,” the fair-haired lad looked as though he couldn’t believe himself. “You’ve saved my life on the cliff, and you owed nothing to me. You did it even though you would probably be much happier with me gone...”

The dark-haired boy took some time to think of an answer, it seemed.

“I would not let you die. You are still the heir to the throne.”

“And I hope to be a good king one day, to prove you that you haven’t saved me in vain. And also… listen, I promise, I won’t be hard on you. You’re all alone here, away from your court, from your friends, from your sisters… I know how you must feel. I remember when I was sent away squiring, it was…”

“Where were you fostered?”

“In Nemeth. With prince Rodor.”

“Was it terrible, too?”

“He’s boring. You alone have already been more eventful than all my fostering years.”

They both smiled.

“And I know that they don’t teach you sword fight and all that," the fair-haired boy resumed, "because you hardly need it with all your magic might, but I will teach you, if you want.”

“You will?”

“I will. You’re my squire, after all,” he said jokingly and headed out of the room when the dark-haired boy’s voice chased him.

“Thank you. For understanding. I don’t hate you, by the way. So that you know.”

“Fine. I don’t come across lads like you that often, too. We shall be back to work tomorrow.”

“Right. At the sunrise.”

Merlin was suddenly brought back to the dark forest. His head was aching, the sunstone seemed pulsing on his chest. He struggled to keep himself on his feet and fell down. It took him longer than he expected to find their camp, where Pliny, Bo and Gwaine were sleeping. 

***

“Merlin?”

_Why were they fighting? One of them was the heir of some throne, and the dark-haired boy had magic. And there seemed nothing wrong with it._

“Merlin!”

_The fair-haired boy could’ve fallen off the cliff, but the other one saved him, and the feast was awful, he didn’t like the feast. The feast was terrible. He felt lonely, even though the room was so rich._

“Merlin, wake up, for the love of Camelot!”

Merlin opened his eyes to see Gwaine towering above him, shielding him from the slam of the morning sunlight. It took him longer than usual to gather himself and bring control over his senses. His head was aching and his mouth was dry.

“Merlin, you look like you’re sick. Bo, don’t you reckon?”

“He does look a bit too pale, especially for summer.”

“I’m fine,” Merlin said, leaning on Gwaine, rather unconsciously, as he tried to get on his feet. It was the first time he let his hands land on strong Gwaine’s arms, and upon realizing that, Merlin jumped away. “Fine, I am. I need water.”

“You’re sure you’re fine, fella?” Gwaine sounded worried. “You kept muttering in your dream.”

“What was I saying?”

“Edgy. You kept muttering “edgy”.”

_Edgy? Of course! Edge of the cliff. The cliff is edgy, that’s what I must have been saying. Why, though?_

“Are there any water castles in Camelot?” Merlin asked the company, who were looking at him nervously.

“Pardon?” Pliny coughed.

“Rocks and sea. And a cliff. Is there such a place in Camelot?”

“Camelot has but one territory that’s by the sea,” Gwaine’s tone suggested he tried to remind Merlin of something. “It’s Gedref.”

“So much is true,” Pliny nodded. “There where the low mountains descend into the sea.”

“You’ve been there?” Bo asked, excited.

“When I was young,” Pliny’s smile shone at them, brighter than the morning light.

_Gedref. Of course. The heir of Gedref is a dark-haired boy. Or the fair-haired. One of them was the heir of Gedref. One's fair-haired, one's dark-haired. They’re like… They’re like…_

“Owaine and Modron!” Merlin exclaimed, stunning his company. “Of course!”

“Merlin, you’re talking to yourself, that looks weird! What’s happening?” Gwaine looked as serious as he rarely did.

“I had a strange dream,” Merlin replied, and he didn’t lie.

“I see. Now unless you’ve had your breakfast in your dream, have something to eat, we must resume our journey soon.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The title of this chapter is one of the puzzles that are building up in the Guiding Star <3 
> 
> Morgana chapter coming tomorrow


	6. Morgana 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana and Morgause are on their way to the druid gathering and stop in Greenswood to change the horses.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

**Chapter 5: Ghost of the Past**  

 _A priestess. A high priestess._ The news brought even more confusion to her life which had clearly lacked a sense of order and a sense of comprehension. She had been brave enough to dream of the day when she would not be afraid to practice magic, but her visit to the settlement of druids had turned into a terrible blow to her dreams. _Aglain was reported dead. He was so kind to me. And Mordred, Mordred… He was lucky enough to find Avlarr soon, but what happened to him after the raid of Uther’s dogs on Alvarr’s camp? Good gracious, let him stay alive, he’s just a child…_

They had descended the path and turned east, away from Pass of Camlann, riding the lonely, desolated and corroded hills which kept rolling eastward. In a matter of hours, they passed Howden, a large village thrice the size of the Lower Town with the traces of soldier camps all around. Morgana had heard the words about the soldiers who had gone to war, about the king’s visit and about some beast in the Darkling woods. Apart from that, the commoners seemed not overly sad or excited, and were busy with the field work, and the smithies seemed overworked, too.

The path from Howden to Greenswood soon turned into a broad and well-maintained road, probably because it was the official royal way to Mercia, and an important route that connected the weapon-traders of Howden (who benefited from the miners of the White Mountains) with the merchants of Mercia. Flint hills kept rolling north of the road, and Morgana’s sight would often catch ruins of the old watchtowers and holdfasts on the stony summits of the hills north of the road. _The traces of the Mercian war_ , Morgana remembered. _I was four years old when Bayard of Mercia brought five thousand swords to lay siege to the castle of Camelot. People were starving, there was not enough food and Bayard kept firing the giant stones at our walls, hoping to drive Uther out of the castle for a single combat. When Bayard learnt that Uther’s Western army decided to march through the pass of Camlann to free the castle of Camelot, the Mercian king took most of his forces down the Howden road, burning and destroying everything on his way as he was moving to meet the Western army of Uther._

There was another side to this story, however: to the south of the road the land got lower and soon flattened to a plain stretching as far as Morgana’s eyes could see. Narrow streams appeared before long, and small farms spreading in rings around those streams were walled in wood and stone. _People still built new villages after the war, life surged despite the blood, the grief, the loss and the desolation brought by the cruel kings. Life always surges. My life surged too, despite all the hemlock Merlin served me._

Due to its modern importance for Mercian trade, the road to Greenswood was one of the best-trafficked routes in the kingdom, second to the Southern Road, and many inns were to be found on their way. The landscape soon began to resemble the scene Morgana had been used to: the hunting woods which took after Camelot’s surroundings, the lush but not too thick forests where she had been hunting with Arthur before he started his official training for knighthood. _After that, he suddenly decided he was too good to spend time hunting with someone like me, and started dragging those idiots from the training sessions anywhere he went. Arthur, this is not how I wanted it all to end. May you find peace in the spirit world. You were like a brother to me._

The village of Greenswood was nowhere as large as Howden; it seemed a messy place, twice the size of the Southern Village of Camelot. It seemed an innocent evening, with kisses of soft summer wind on her skin and the mellow-yellow light filling the village. Small folk were busy feeding the horses, pigs, hens, geese and other animals, some were darting out to have conversation with the neighbors. Lines of smoke were rising above the houses – suppers were being cooked.

“We must change horses,” Morgause told her, her unhooded face with fair curls charming in the summer evening.

“Why?”

“The enchantments that let them ride so quickly are dangerous. They have harmed them.”

“Harmed?!” Morgana raised her eyebrow. “Harmed how?!”

“I am afraid they will not last long after the spell wears off,” Morgause said casually.

“The spell makes them die?!”

“It makes them ride faster than any other horse first.”

Morgana pursed her lips; she felt disgusted with this particular spell, and the shudder ran across her body when she tried to imagine all the other spells that could be darker than the one Morgause had used on the horses. _Is this also one of the traditions I am supposed to keep as a high priestess?_

They were moving towards a large inn; the smell of the stables shot up her nose, and she saw a small crowd of people gathered by the entrance. Some of them stood there with drinks in wooden cups in their hands, others were just listening or talking. Suddenly, she realized she hadn’t thought about food or drinks the whole day.

“This potion you gave me, it helps me to not be hungry or thirsty, right?”   

“Indeed,” Morgause nodded. “So there is no need for you to enter the inn. The court is still looking for you, sister, so it’s not safe. I’ll talk to the innkeeper about changing the horses and be right back.”

Morgause dismounted and walked into the inn through a rather indifferent crowd. Morgana tried to listen to what people were talking about.

“…his uncle, remember?”

“Was Tristan his uncle? I heard he was his brother!”

“The brother? The prince had no brothers, you stinky old fool! He was the only son of the king! That Tristan was his uncle, his mother’s brother!”

Morgana tried to look indifferent and uninterested, but when she heard the name she remembered from somewhere, the tension rose in her stomach. She saw a tall man with rich-brown shoulder-length hair walk out of the tavern; their eyes met, and he smiled her way. Morgana thought she was blushing and turned away; she had never flirted with a commoner before.

“And Tristan stepped from his grave, stepped like he had never died at all! He had serpent skin and wolf’s teeth, and dragon wings behind his back, and he challenged Uther the Great and Uther the Great defeated him! Little did the king know that his own son was cursed just like Tristan was!”

_Are they talking about that dead knight which rose from his grave last year? The one who challenged Arthur? When Uther locked Arthur in his chambers and defeated Tristan himself?_

“Aye, it’s a family curse, a curse that runs through Arthur’s mother line!”

“That’s some gibberish you’re talking!”

“Gibberish? Gibberish? And who killed the guards then? And why is Arthur’s tomb empty and the guards slain?”

_A curse? Who can be foolish enough to believe Arthur was cursed? Are they saying Arthur's tomb is empty?_

“I don’t know nothing about the slain guards, but if Tom doesn’t bring that mead soon, I'll feel like slaying someone, too!”

The company started walking inside slowly; as the crowd thinned, Morgana saw a slim tall figure stand right there, his pale face a bit unhealthy in the fruity sunlight. It took Morgana a moment to understand why terror had washed over her and why the suffocating feeling had suddenly seized her: she was looking into the eyes of her murderer.

Merlin was standing there, in his red tunic, appalled and ill-looking, with an expression of horror to his prolonged face. There was a bag over his shoulders, some chain on his neck, dirty brown worn-off boots with some holes to them. He looked as though he had been wandering for some time. His mouth fell open and he was eyeing her as though he struggled to understand she was real, the real person, the real friend he had chosen to kill for the sake of Arthur and Uther. When their eyes met, she felt as though there was not enough air, nothing to breathe as strange coldness and weakness spread in her chest and her arms became feeble and her eyes tearful. No matter how hard she tried to resist, the sinister gravity pulled her back into the moment when she lay there in his arms, dying in the lethal embrace of the man she trusted.

“ _MORGAUSE_!” she shrieked hysterically, turning to the door and thinking that screaming was the only way to breathe again, to let the inhales come. “ _MORGAUSE! HE IS HERE!”_

Suddenly, she heard a strange hissing noise at the ground and people were screaming. She had a moment to glimpse at the ground and saw a writhing black snake. Then her horse utted a nervous neigh and stood on end, Morgana tried to hold by the bridles, but her hands were too weak, and she fell off, hitting her back and head while trying to land on her foot somehow, but failing.

“Snake!”

“There is a snake!”

“Bring the shovel!”

There was much shouting, and the crowd surrounded her, people were trying to help her rise to her feet, but her ankle hurt too much to keep balance. She wanted them to go away to take a look at Merlin, but when Morgause slammed through the crowd, looking furiously worried, Morgana noticed that Merlin was no longer there.

“Sister, what happened?!”

“The snake nearly bit your sister’s horse,” a man told Morgause. “She fell off!”

“A snake? How comes there is a snake in the middle of the village?”

“Aye! Haven’t seen snakes here for years! The last time I was a little boy…”

Morgause in the meanwhile, was eyeing Morgana suspiciously; she understood her sister had something to say, but they required more privacy.

“I’ll take care of her, thank you good people,” Morgause tried to sound nice.

She let Morgana lean on her arm and led her to the well.

“What happened, sister?”

“Merlin,” Morgana whispered with frightened tears in her voice. “Merlin. He was here.”

“ _Merlin_? That servant?! Where is he? Did he hurt you?” Morgause was looking around, trying to spot her foe.

“No, he ran away when I fell off the horse, I have lost him out of my sight,” Morgana said, trying to understand why she was so horrified by meeting him. “You’ve told me he’s dead!”

“So I thought…”

“Why would he taunt me like this? Is he following us? Is he trying to murder me?”

“I hope he does,” Morgause’s voice was steel-cold. “Because then he will walk straight into my sight and meet his doom. I will repay him for all he has done to you, sister, one day I will. Don’t worry, I will not leave you now. Not until we reach the settlement.”

But she couldn't calm herself, it was impossible. Tears were stuck in her throat, her hands were shaking, cold and so weak she couldn’t clench her fingers into fists, and her heart was galloping, echoing in her ears with deafening bangs. _Why is he following me? How comes he is in Greenswood? Are there any knights here with him? Is he trying to kill me? Why have I met him on the third day since coming back to life? Why can’t he let me be? Why can’t I be free of him?_


	7. Morgana 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana and Morgause finally arrive at the druid settlement, not without meeting some obstacles on their way.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

**Chapter 6: Triskelion Gathering**

They followed the Mercian road for some time before turning northwards. The forests of Andor were thinner than those of Darkling, and presented more streams and small rivers under their horses during the ride.

Morgause was as watchful as ever. Morgana noticed her sister trying to check whether they were being followed as the horses kept moving into the thicket. Hard as it was to believe that Merlin could be following them, an explanation that would uncover the mystery of Merlin’s appearance in Greenswood hadn’t come along, and Morgana grew less comfortable of the ride. She kept listing all the ideas why Merlin could have arrived at Greenswood, but it only led to more questions.

 _What is he doing since he is no longer Arthur’s servant? Is he now serving some knight of Camelot? Well, he as well may be… I mean, he has to somehow earn his bread, right? Would be stupid to believe he’d starve himself to death because of his grief over Arthur… Well, Merlin could’ve mourned him, that’s possible, and Arthur seemed to have grown strangely fond of the boy in the second year of their forced partnership. But has Merlin grown equally fond of Arthur? Has Merlin cried when he heard the news about the prince? He must have met the news in the castle, of course. Arthur would’ve never taken Merlin into a patrol. Merlin’s unfit, he’s too weak and knows nothing about the swordfight. Could we have met by chance?_  

Morgause didn't believe in such chances and the witch seemed ready to unleash a terrible spell at anybody who would be spotted behind their backs. However, as time proved, nobody was following them. When the sunlight had begun to get bogged down in the forest leaves, Morgause and Morgana emerged out of the thinned wood onto a sandy and stony bank of the murmurous wide river. Its waters were murky and flowing calmly, with green feeble leaves and thin sticks carried away by its current. Suddenly, Morgause stopped her horse and raised her hand, inviting Morgana to do the same. The witch sensed some danger, it was clear from the heavy look in her brown eyes.

"What's wrong?" Morgana asked warily. "You sense someone? Merlin?"

"No. It has nothing to do with that servant. It's the river," Morgause said as she dismounted her horse and took off her blue cloak. "Something's wrong."

"Why? We can't move onwards?"

"This place has known magic," Morgause spoke in a whisper. "A magic of such power that our passage may be denied."

Morgana's hands went cold and she, too, dismounted her horse, trying to stay as close to Morgause as possible. _What sort of magic? Who would want to deny our passage?_ After a few moments, she realized there was indeed something odd about this river, something about its unhurriedly charming flow that gave her shivers. Morgause was revolting on the spot on the bank, her gaze most insightful, most watchful, as though she could see something Morgana could not.

"This is strange. An obstacle it could be, but it's not. Then what is it? Why would such magic be hidden in a river? For mere beauty? No. There must be more."

Morgause kept walking along the bank, occasionally pausing before she finally grew brave enough to caress the sheet of water. Morgana wanted to scream, wanted to warn her sister to never put her hand into water, but nothing happened when Morgause did.

"You feel nothing, sister?"

Morgana frowned. There was something she could feel, for sure, and it felt as if she were listening to a person talking into a strange tongue she could not understand.

"Why don't you try and touch the water, too? But don't take your bracelet off, I urge you."

Morgana dropped to her knees and stretched her arm out, and let her palm drown in the cool waters. For a moment everything remained unchanged, but soon she felt as though somebody grabbed her hand and put it into fire flames rather than river’s water; she tried to pull it away, and for a few seconds, her mind was eclipsed with odd, mysterious visions she couldn't understand.

There was a woman in the hollow, dark-haired and slim, but rather old; she had a wall of fire racing her way, but she waved her hands and when the fire was about to swallow her, the door appeared in that wall, and opened just in time for the woman to walk through it, unharmed. Morgana saw a heart of blue stone gleaming in a tomb, and crows nesting on a weird grave, and low, sinister voice calling for someone. She saw another cave, wrapped in bluish light and a pool whose waters were illuminated by crystals, and Arthur kneeling on the rock in the middle of the pool, with a strange crown on his head and a figure she could not see crowning him.

"Sister?" Morgause helped her rise to her feet and was holding her by the arms. "Sister? You're hurt?"

"No," Morgana shook her head, checking her palm for the traces of fire. There were no burns. "I just saw... I can't know how..."

"What did you see?"

"I saw a woman, and a blue heart, and Arthur, Arthur in the crystal cave."

"Arthur can't be in the crystal cave," Morgause dismissed it. "Woman. What woman did you see? What did the woman look like?"

"Old, with dark hair. Who is she?"

Morgause did not answer. Her eyes gleamed golden, and the next moment the horses ran into the river. The water was not deep enough to even cover their knees, and when they crossed half the river in width, the horses disappeared. Morgana gasped.

"Where did they go?! Did you see that?!"

"Come," Morgause took her hand and invited her into the water, too. "I think we have naught to fear."

Morgana could feel the water attacking her feet as it flooded her boots. The bottom of the river was sandy and often covered with sharp stones, but there was no need to swim. When they crossed half the river in width, Morgana noticed odd colors among the trees on the new bank: dirty-beige, pale-grey and light-green. There were tents far away, dozens, hundreds of them, moving figures, scents of cookfires and echoes of conversations reaching her ears.

“What is this the place?” Morgana asked, distrustfully. It looked so vulnerable and so foolishly defenseless. _Don’t they know the knights may come and slaughter them just like when Arthur brought the knights to that settlement which I visited? Or do they rely on this river like some sort of protection?_

“We have arrived,” Morgause replied, beaming, grabbing her horse by the bridles to lead her. Morgana did the same. “Let us hope they welcome us warmly.”

As they approached the first row of tents, Morgana had the better view to understand the scale of the camp: the rows were going left and right before making turns and circling the space. When they neared the first row, a man ran towards them.

“Who are you?" he had an unwashed face and bushy brown hair. "What’s your business here?”

“I was invited,” Morgause replied, holding over the bridles of her horse to the man.

“Invited by who?” the man grunted, not taking the bridles.

“Why, by Alvarr himself. I bring you Winybolt's niece.”

_Alvarr? Did she just say Alvarr?_

“Lady Vivienne’s daughter?” the man’s eyes opened. “Lady Morgana? Liya! Liya! Go and fetch Alvarr at once! Go, don’t keep staring at her! Go, go, go!”

“Morgause,” Morgana couldn’t mask the excitement in her voice. “Who’s a Winybolt? And Alvar...”

“Alvarr is one of the people behind this gathering," Morgause replied, not aware of the fact that Morgana knew Alvarr too well already. "He is one of the promising masterminds of the druids, if _mastermind_ is something I can use when speaking of the druids.”

Morgause smirked, making the man who was taking care of the horses give her an angry look, and continued:

“It is here that they are going to call the gathering and attempt to decide…”

“Morgause!” a happy voice emerged from behind the row of tents quicker than the man to whom it belonged. “You are nearly late! You’ve promised to arrive by sunset!”

“And here I am, the sun’s still in the sky,” Morgause turned around and acknowledged the man’s presence with a short nod. “We had to hurry and ride through the lands controlled by the king, may I remind you. Morgana, this is Alvarr. Alvarr, this is…”

“Morgana!” Alvarr stopped dead. “Is it really you? Roast me in the dragonflames! How? The rumors, they all said you were…”

She didn’t know why, but she couldn’t just stand and watch him: with her injured ankle, she ran towards Alvarr and flung herself at the man she had seen under the most dangerous circumstances of her life. She landed in his embrace, he was full of strength and the body heat she hadn’t shared for all the time she was battling hemlock in the crystal cave. 

“Alvarr,” her voice was tearful again, but this time – from joy. The look of this man with a head that seemed too small on his broad shoulders, the hair colored as yellow as immature dandelion, and the face with flat and wide forehead and bushy eyebrows seemed the most wonderful thing she had come across in a while. 

“You know each other?” Morgause was not even remotely pleased, judging by her tone, and was completely stunned, judging by her expression. 

Morgause's eyes were wide as she was giving Alvarr a suddenly perplexed look, as though she was facing some notorious figure she’d do best to avoid. In a moment, though, she fixed her face, arranging herself into an unfazed expression, and looking around curiously.

“The triskelion gathering is almost upon us,” Alvarr said, kissing Morgana’s hand; the touch of his dry lips seemed hotter than the heated steel.

“A triskelion gathering without triskelion?” Morgause smirked. “You druids never cease to amaze me. _Triskelion_ …”

Alvarr exchanged looks with the man who had just tied the horses to the tree.

“Why didn’t you tell everybody _she_ was coming?" the man asked, pointing at Morgause. "They won’t be happy, they can’t expect her kind to…”

“The times of old feuds are over,” Alvarr responded immediately. “The fate offers us the first chance in twenty-two years! Are we going to give up on this chance because of the old feuds?”

“On your head be it,” the man said disapprovingly. “On yours and yours alone.”

“Come, my lady, we must not hesitate,” Alvarr invited Morgana to follow him through the rows of tents. By his nervously happy look and by the sunset-kissed trees reflected in his eyes it was clear that he'd gladly spend more time with her, but duty called him to join the meeting. Morgana knew her heart was beating faster and her hand was growing warm in his.   

Morgause was already ahead of them, walking towards something that looked like a center of the settlement. The farther they walked, the more people were seen standing between the tents and the cookfires. After five rows of tents, a spacious clearing emerged, with an uprooted tree where three people were standing. The first one was a short woman with a wrinkled face, a crooked nose and a grey turban on her head. Next to her stood a lean, grey-bearded man with a face which seemed to be permanently frowning. A fat but feeble toothless old man was the third one, aloof and cautious.

“You may wait here,” Alvarr said to Morgana, leaving her by one of the tents before raising his voice to adress the trio. “I’m sorry to have made you wait!”

People didn’t seem to be paying Morgana any special attention, but she heard whispers follow Morgause's steps.  _Why did that man said they would not be happy to see Morgause? And her kind? What is her kind? What does it mean?_ The instant that thought crossed her mind, the toothless man of the trio eyed Morgause in disbelief and turned to Alvarr.

“What is the meaning of this? What is _she_ doing here?”

“She has come to join us, because I’ve invited her,” Alvarr poured some courage into his voice. “And we must show some respect to our guest, else our manners…”

“Manners be damned, Alvarr, you’ve disclosed our location to the _priestess_?” the toothless man couldn’t stop his outrage.   

“It wouldn’t be hard for me to find you on my own, Lochru,” Morgause snapped mockingly. “The river magic trick seems impressive, but keeping the matter of the Triskelion Gathering secret while inviting more than two hundred people from all over the kingdom? Even you couldn’t be _so_ ambitious, could you?”

“I will not stand her insulting me!” Lochru, the toothless man, shouted at Alvarr, acting as though it was beneath his honor to grant Morgause a single look, let alone to adress her personally.

“If we seek peace in the life of the kingdom, we’d do well to start with finding peace at our gathering,” the frowning lean grey-bearded man said angrily. “Alvarr should’ve warned us, but why waste our precious time on the heat of the feud when we have so much to discuss?”

“Ruadan is right,” the crooked-nosed woman of the trio nodded. “Anybody willing to help is generous these days. Welcome, Morgause, High Priestess of Avalon!”

“Thank you, Finna,” Morgause nodded in response.

“We shall commence,” Ruadan gestured, and Lochru and Finna joined him in front of the tree. “In the name of the great heritage of our tradition, the Triskelion, we call the gathering!”

The uprooted tree was set on fire, the flames red and blue, engulfing it and rising high, the tongues of fire dancing in the middle of the camp to the awed sighs among the crowd. In a moment, the three druids clapped, and the fire was gone, as though never started, and the tree was unharmed.

“Alvarr, you may join us now,” Ruadan, who seemed in charge, said. “People of Triskelion! We have gathered today, the three great tribes of druids. The Catha tribe is represented by Finna, the Essetir tribes are represented by Lochru. We, the Camelot druids, are happy to hold the gathering, the first gathering in Camelot in twenty years!”

A roar of cheers ran through the crowd. Morgana could understand little about what was going on, but she was savoring every word. _There are three druid tribes. Camelot, Essetir and Katta or Katha or something._

“We have suffered for long, people of Triskelion, but the source of our suffering is finally gone, and the land – free of its murderous grip!”

People were cheering, they were cheering for the death of Uther, and Morgana thought there could not be a safer place in the whole wide world than in the settlement celebrating Uther’s death. Morgause rolled her eyes, for whatever the reason.

“But even though the foe is gone, his shadow is still dimming the light across the land. Magic remains outlawed in the kingdom, and the new king has not shown any will to lift the ban. Brechfa is under attack, and the king is leading an army there. The question we must answer: what must the druids do?”

“I propose a different question," Morgause’s voice was icily ill-humored. "What _can_ the druids do?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will cover the rest of the Triskelion Gathering, and then we will be back to Merlin POV <3


	8. Morgana 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana watches Morgause participating in a heated debate about the path the druid tribes must take now that Uther's dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

**Chapter 7: Triskelion Gathering, Part 2**

“Pardon?” Finna flushed at Morgause's obviously snobbish remark. “Druids can do many things! The magic of Catha…”

“Is more powerful than people may imagine, no doubt of that," Morgause snapped at her. "But what exactly is the plan? To capture the castle of Camelot with the force of the mind-benders?”

“The castle is defenseless,” Alvarr pressed the point. “Ryence Gingawaine has taken his army to Brechfa, so we could…”

“And what will stop him from bringing the army back?” Morgause’s tone was fashionably irritated. “People of Triskelion, were you really foolish to believe that you could change the shape of future by capturing one castle, however ancient?”

“Wasn’t it you who attempted to capture the very same castle by unleashing the dreadful enchantment that made everybody fall asleep?” Lochru cut her off.

“My intentions had nothing to do with the stupid castle! Justice for Uther was my goal!”

“Yet he’d lived, hadn’t he? All you could do was to release the dragon to condemn the poor castle to…”

“The dragon had nothing to do with me! I would never see this beast blacken the sky again!”

“You’re in the presence of Triskelion people, priestess,” Lochru warned her. “Magic of the dragons is sacred to us. The dragonlords had ruled over us for…”

“The dragonlords are dead,” Morgause raised her voice. “Spare me the bedtime stories, Lochru, it’s not what we’re here for. We’re here to…”

“You were not invited in the first place!”

“Lochru!” Finna pleaded. “If the High Priestess of Avalon offers help against the force which has been persecuting us day after day for more than twenty years, why would you…”

“And what can _you_ know about being persecuted, Finna?” Lochru thundered. “You and your people, who dwell in Catha, ruled by Alator, mastering the secrets of mind and the magic we’ve sworn to reject! What can you possibly know…”

“I think the druids of Essetir didn’t suffer much, too? They simply fled during the Purge, leaving us alone, face to face with...” Alvarr crossed his arms and treated Lochru with a challenging gaze.

The uprooted tree was set on fire again; the flames reached the height of man’s size and cast a silence over the clearing. Ruanad was now wearing an expression of righteous anger. Dusk was creeping into the forest, and the withering cookfires were sparkling bright like the glimmering jewels scattered beneath the sunlight.

“If any of the druids here dares to engulf us into the battle of words again, I shall close the gathering,” Ruadan threatened. “Morgause, you would do well to know your place. Alvarr, you were supposed to speak first.”

“I was. And I shall,” Alvarr cleared his throat. “People of Triskelion! I have managed, although amidst great danger, to lay my hands on the most precious piece of knowledge. Lord Accolon, the Councilor of War, is in Asgorath, negotiating the fate of Western army which had been summoned after the news about Cenred’s invasion. The Western army consists of two thousand swords and we have all the rights to believe the Western lords will align with Princess Anna and deny Lord Accolon the right to command their army.”

 _Princess Anna? What princess?_ Morgana didn’t know any princess called Anna. _And what does Lord Accolon have to do with it? Lord Accolon? The one who was Uther’s Councilor of War? And why would the western lords be helping druids?_ She felt dizzy. _Have druids been able to penetrate to the most sacred depth of Uther’s power hierarchy?_ Morgause, however, didn’t look moved by the young rebel’s speech. 

“It’s a charming story, Alvarr,” the priestess said. “A rainbow-flavored future, I dare say. The future where the brave druids capture the castle of Camelot, and two thousand swords come from the west and smash Ryence Gingawaine. Maybe, in your fantasy, you even see Sewyll Accolon himself do it, maybe in your fantasy he will, all of a sudden, remember that he is the grandson of Queen Andor, whom he never loved. Once Ryence is defeated, you will crown Anna Dindrane, I assume, the one you call Princess Anna, the only surviving granddaughter of Queen Andor?”

_Anna Dindrane? Lady Dindrane? Who in the wide world is Queen Andor and what rights does Lady Dindrane have for the throne of Camelot?_

“Your assumption nears the truth, priestess. What bothers you?”

“Oh, _everything_ bothers me, Alvarr. Where do I start? For instance, Uther’s aunt. She is the Lady of Daobeth! And Demeth Dindrane’s sister is the Lady of Denaria! And my father’s cousin rules Asgorath, old as he is!”

“We know who rules which territories, Morgause…”

“Then why do you so blatantly ignore the fact that both, Demeth Dindrane and my father were Uther’s warlords? Why do you avoid the bitter truth? It’s the _relatives of Uther’s warlords_ who now rule the West! And his aunt! The West stinks of Uther’s warlords, it’s the stench of Purge and the stench of treason that will come from behind the White Mountains, if the western lords really choose to oppose the new king. If you’re blind and irresponsible enough to believe that the soldiers from the West will fight in the name of the druids…”

“They will fight against Ryence at first!”

“Why would they do that?” fury suited Morgause, making her features polarly beautiful. “Because their lords didn’t have the time to make it for the king’s election? Nonsense. Even if they fought against Ryence, what would happen after that? I shall tell you. Once Ryence were defeated, Uther’s aunt would come from the West like the wind of winter, with more banners and would lead _her_ army, the true western army to the gates of Camelot to crown herself, or one of her sons…”

Sunset had already spoken; in the darkness, the smells of moist earth and of the recent cookfires reigned. Morgause, graceful and blonde, stepped forward, and people seemed so deep in thought they didn’t object to her taking part in the conversation as a druids’ equal. Lochru was still far from accepting Morgause, listening to every word of the priestess as though he was looking for the proof of some great mischief from her, some terrible agenda she had brought. 

“What do you propose, priestess? To miss our only chance? Our first chance in twenty-two years?”

“No, I propose differently. Instead of trying to capture one castle, which, I believe, is now guarded twice as enthusiastically, we must have _our_ own army, an army we could trust in. But it is not only through the swords that me must seek victory. We must conquer _the court_ before we bring swords.”

“Anna is watched night and day, and her son, and her granddaughters, too…”

“Anna Dindrane and Sewyll Accolon may be the last grandchildren of Queen Andor,” Morgause tried to withhold the shades of irritation from her voice.  “But there are heirs of other dragonlord families, aren’t they?”

“There are not,” Ruadan responded. “Dorin, son of Prince Darian was murdered on Uther’s orders, drowned. Gabryss, daughter of Prince Darian, as well as her husband Lyns Everwick and their children Sully, Magra and Gafael, were all burned. Thulin Dracos was beheaded for the attempt to kill Uther, and so was Elsa, Prince Darian's widow. Thomas and Hamelia escaped by miracle, and nobody has ever heard anything about them ever since. Winybolt died at the Battle of Ashes, leaving no children. Balinor died in Essetir not a month ago. Sewyll Accolon and Anna Dindrane are alive and both have the blood of Queen Andor. But Sewyll is in Asgorath and loathes the druids, while Anna is under watch, and so are her granddaughters, Ravenna and Melinna.”

“Winybolt had a sister, her name was Vivienne,” even though Morgause spoke softly, Morgana felt chills running up her spine. “Lady Vivienne married Ector Gorlois and gave birth to two daughters.”

“You don’t believe the People of Triskelion will recognize _you_?” Lochru laughed. “You may be the daughter of Vivienne and the niece of Winybolt the Dragonlord, but you’re the High Priestess, we can’t…”

“Did you hear what I said, old man? Vivienne gave birth to _two daughters_.”

“Lady Morgana has been missing for…”

“She is here,” Morgana had to step back, because the sighs of shock were so loud they’ve frightened her to death. “Morgana of House Gorlois, the daughter of Vivienne and the niece of Winybolt. I reckon that Morgana’s influence at court could be very useful.”

“Useful? In what way?” Ruadan’s voice was piercing through Morgana’s nerves. _They are discussing me as though I were not here._

“I heard that King Ryence has a young nephew,” Morgause said. “I see no reason why a marriage between the king’s nephew and the dragonlord’s niece can’t happen. Morgana, after all, is terribly missed by the small folk.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've put the list of the modern great houses of Camelot, lords and ladies of the territories and also the Druid Dynasty in the next chapter just as some trivia for you <3


	9. Morgana 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Morgana is presented to the druids at the Triskelion gathering, Alvarr's strategy has to be renegotiated with the leaders of druid tribes and Morgause herself. Morgana, in the meantime, enjoys the company of a druid family and waits for Morgause's verdict.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

**Chapter 8: Matters of Blood**

Soon after Morgause's remark, Ruadan declared the Triskelion gathering closed, and Morgause and the three leaders of druids chose to spend some time whispering in the woods. Morgana, in the meantime, was welcome to join the cookfire of a family of four: a husband and his wife, and their two children, both no older than eight. Their hair was as ginger as the cookfire flames, and Morgause asked them to look after her sister while she was busy discussing the new plans with the trio druids. The mother of the family offered Morgana some soup and some bread, but she had to refuse with all the courtesy she could summon, because Morgause's spell had not worn off and she didn't need food. Morgana warmly accepted the herbal drink, though.

“You must not fear, you’re safe with us,” the mother of the family assured her.

 _Safe? Can we really be safe while the sovereign of the kingdom refuses to recognize magic?_ Morgana chose to spare the gloomy thoughts for the family.

“Can I know your names?” she wondered instead, tasting a strange bitter-sweet drink with pleasant blackberry scents.

“I’m Gontha, this is my husband Eurwin and our children, Maya and Ilving.”

“Why is this girl supping with us?” the daughter blushed when she noticed Morgana eye her curiously.  

“Maya, dear, she’s no ordinary girl. She’s Lady Morgana, she is the niece of one of the last dragonlords!”

“You said dragonlords were gone?” Ilving, the boy, asked doubtfully.

“They are gone, but their relatives remain with us.”

“Can you breathe out fire?” Ilving asked with rapture, looking at Morgana as though she could turn into a dragon any moment.

“Ilving!” his father snapped rather reproachfully.

Morgana was sure her smile made her eyes gleam. 

“No, no, I’m afraid I can’t breathe out fire," she tried to make her voice sound sweet, merry and friendly for the kids. "But I have magic, and the first magic I ever did was fire.”

“Mum teaches that you must never tell anybody you have magic,” Maya whispered. “Else bad people may take you away to the dungeons and torture and kill you.”

Morgana nearly dropped her cup, and stared at the mother of the family, tears welling up in her eyes. _They’ve chosen not to pretend long ago. They’ve chosen to openly follow the traditions of their tribe. They have condemned themselves to living in fear and to pass this fear to every new generation of the druids. They know bad people may come after them any time. The had been living with the threats of new Uther raids for so many years. Yet they are the bravest people of this kingdom._

“You must not worry, Lady Morgana,” it seemed Morgana’s sudden emotion couldn’t escape Gontha’s curious gaze. “Your arrival was not foreseen, yet you can play a part in shaping a brighter future for the druids, for all of us. So that we don't have to fear and to teach our kids to never tell anybody they have magic. Don't worry, nothing will be done against your will, of that you can be sure. Ruadan seems raw and calculative, but he will never use you in any dangerous mission without your and your sister's consent. If you think you’re not ready to go to the castle of Camelot, we will be happy to help you find your new home here, make sure. We can mark you with a Triskelion, if you wish…”

“Morgana will not be marked,” a polite, yet determined tone of Morgause rose from behind Morgana's back. “She will make this decision once we all live in a free land. I’m sorry to ruin your supper, kind people, but my sister must follow me. I thank you for your hospitality.”

Morgana understood her too well. _Something urgent._ _Will she tell me now?_  

“Pray excuse me,” Morgana apologized to the family. “It was an honor meeting all of you. You’re the bravest people this kingdom has ever known.”

Morgause was leading her out of the camp, in the direction they had come from. Cookfires were dying all over the place, the whispers and talks melting as night was sending waves of darkness against the shores of skies. The unresolved thoughts and guesswork in her head were building up into an awful nauseous feeling. She was overburdened with puzzles, mysteries and secrets, and her mind was so different from the peaceful ascent of the Camelot night. _What was Merlin doing in the Greenswood village? Why did he meet me? Was it by accident or by design? Who is Queen Andor? What are the druids planning to do now that Uther is gone? Will Alvarr capture the castle of Camelot while King Ryence is in Brechfa?_

“Morgause, what marriage were you talking about? My marriage?”

“Don’t you worry, sister,” Morgause’s tone was calm and chill. “You’ve spent too much time traveling today, you must rest and have a good natural sleep.”

“But Morgause, I…”

“You will not have to marry anybody unless you want to. Nobody will force you to do anything.”

“Good. But that was your plan? To marry me to Rion?”

“That wasn’t my plan all along,” Morgause shook her head. “I improvised. I thought that it could be worth trying when I learnt the name of the new king. I must dissuade them from capturing the castle, it's inconceivably stupid even by the druids' standards. The Dragon burnt the large part of the food stock, the castle is unlikely to withstand a siege and if Alvarr thinks the druid renegades can oppose the armed forces of Ryence for long...”

“Did they listen to you?”

“They did. And they all agreed the plan must be altered, they may even agree to follow my strategy. All except…”

“Lochru?”

“Yes. That miserable old fool, he said such decision can only be made if Iseldir agrees.”

“Who is Iseldir?”

“He is the leader of the Essetir tribes.”

“Why is he not here? At such an important moment for his people?”

“Iseldir sent his envoy, Lochru. Iseldir doesn’t think it’s safe traveling to Camelot.”

That statement filled Morgana’s veins with rage and she, too, wanted to set something on fire, just like Ruadan did when he got tired of the heated debates of the druids. _How can this Iseldir be such a coward when there are families traveling to this meeting, when there are parents who are taking their children to this gathering? Doesn’t he have any sense of pride or courage?_

“Is he such a coward that he would send other people to risk their lives for him?”

“Oh, no, not precisely,” Morgause seemed genuinely sad the leader of the Essetir tribes was not present. “Iseldir is anything but a coward. He's too cunning, even though he pretends to be an innocent sheep. He fears not for himself, he’s got too much to guard in Essetir.”

“Like what?”

“He has some magical treasures, I’m certain of it.”

“Why is Lochru so…”

“So mad at me taking part in the Gathering of Triskelion?”

“Yes.”

“Because he sees it as an insult to the druids.”

“Why does he see it that way?”

They stopped way far past the last row of tents, their voices were sinking in the sweet darkness of the night. The wind was carrying away the fading shades of the hot summer day, and Morgana recalled the night when Morgause had met her in the Darkling Wood, the night before the attack of the knights of Medihr.

“Morgana, don’t misinterpret my intentions when you hear what I’m about to say. The Isle of the Blessed has a long and rich history, it goes back to the mists of the ancient times, to the dawn of time itself, some say. Over the course of our history, we’ve earned both, admiration and hatred, fear and love. And there are, sadly, those who distrust us, those who think our ways are wrong.”

“Wrong how?”

“There are some traditions which druids find vile only because of their limited mind and their hypocritic nature,” it seemed as though the nighttime had been waiting forever for Morgause to speak these words. “Blood.”

“Blood?” Morgana didn’t like the chilling sensation that was climbing her spine.

“Yes, Morgana. Blood. Blood is one of the essential elements in the magic of the Old Religion. Druids claim this magic is dark and evil. Yet they choose to comfortably forget that the gift of the dragonlord had been ever passed through blood, too. From father to son, through _blood_.”

“So blood magic is _not_ dark?” much as Morgana wanted to trust her sister, she found it hard to believe the druids were so arrogant that they chose to remain prisoners to the old superstition for so many years.

“It is _powerful_ ,” Morgause stressed this word with the rock-hard tone of her voice. “And much as with any powerful gift, there could be terrible consequences if the one who commands such power decided to misuse it.”

“Have there been situations when the priestesses… em… misused their power?”

“The druids think there have been. When High Priestess Nimueh slaughtered three dragons and their dragonlords at the Battle of Ashes, for instance.”

“A high priestess killed three dragons and their dragonlords?” Morgana gasped. “So that’s why they don’t fancy you? Because you’re a priestess, too?”

“Well, Nimueh would’ve never killed the dragons had there not been enough feud between the druids and the Isle of the Blessed already. So it’s not about Nimueh’s crime, it’s about me... being a part of the cult. Morgana, many druids regard the Isle of the Blessed as a sinister place built on the dark magic and darker practices, with heartless and merciless people preserving the traditions that, in the druids’ opinion, must be purred. Yet they feel free to invite the mind-benders to the meeting. Their standards, I swear… I will tell you more once you’re stronger. I can see you’d betray the whole world to just have a good night of ordinary sleep.”

That part was true. The more Morgause spoke, the heavier Morgana’s eyelids felt, and the stronger she wished to reunite with the night in the murky world of dreams. However, there remained some questions she couldn’t ignore.

“Who is Princess Anna?”

“Anna Dindrane,” Morgause said. 

“Lady Dindrane? Why is she suddenly a princess? There are no princesses in Camelot!”

“Sister, before Uther conquered the castle of Camelot, it had been ruled by a druid dynasty. By dragonlords. Queen Andor was on the throne during Uther’s conquest, she was the widow of the dragonlord king and the mother of the dragolord prince. Anna Dindrane is Queen Andor’s granddaughter and many consider her worthy of the princess title, even though she's much too old to be called one, if you ask me.”

“Why is she alive then? Why didn’t Uther?.. He had murdered so many people, why did he choose to spare her life?”

“She was a young girl of nineteen when Uther won the throne. One of Uther’s warlords married Anna, and she became a respected member of the court.”

 _Obviously. Only those close to his warlords escaped the purge._ Uther had never been selflessly merciful, and even dead, he didn’t prove Morgana wrong. _But I am free from you know. You will never threaten me again, and you will never threaten anybody else._

“So what is our plan now?”

“Our plan is to move you to Alvarr’s place, since he generously agreed to let us stay in his tent. Our plans to combat the violence of the new king are best to be discussed tomorrow.”

There remained one last thing on her mind, the question that had to be posed, for otherwise, she would never know the peaceful sleep. 

“Morgause… What if Merlin, what if Merlin was in the village because he was serving some knights who were following the druids to the Triskelion gathering?”

“There are druid patrols around the camp, sister. I’ve ordered stricter measures of safety. But I wouldn’t worry if I were you. Druids can’t overpower an army, that’s true, but there is something about the land of Andor now... Some ancient magic has sprung back to life and is shielding the druids here. The magic of the river was but a small fraction of this might. This is the worst place for Merlin and the knights to visit, I can assure you.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, we've met the druids! Although little is known about them and much is still to be revealed, the crucial information is that all the major tribes have dispatched their representatives to the Triskelion Gathering, and they intend to act. For now, we leave Morgana in the caring hands of her sister and the druids, for she is about to enjoy the first night of natura sleep after the poisoning. We shall switch to Merlin's adventures in the next chapters <3
> 
> Merlin chapters out 2morrow and on Monday!


	10. Great Houses of Camelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some trivia about Great Houses of Camelot and the Druid Dynasty, as well as the lords and ladies of the territories.

**The Andor Dynasty**

It was the dynasty of dragonlords who ruled over Camelot and the Lake of Avalon. 

King Andor (1), his wife Queen Andor (2) and: 

their eldest daughter Cadoryll (3), who married Pierce Accolon (4), and

  * their granddaughter Hamelia Accolon (5), who married Thomas Somerset (6)
  * their grandson Sewyll Accolon (7), not married. 



their daughter Caerdina (8), who married Sheith Claudin (9), and

  * their granddaughter Lewissa Claudin (10), who married Thorpus Elyan (11)
  * their granddaughter Anna Claudin (12), who married Demeth Dindrane (13)



their son Darian (14), who married Elsa Umark (15), and: 

  * their grandson Dorin (16), who never married 
  * their granddaughter Gabryss (17), who married Lyns Everwick (18).



 

  1. King Andor died forty-three years ago, succeeded by his wife Queen Andor.
  2. Queen Andor disappeared twenty-two years ago, and considering she was born eighty-nine years ago, it's likely that she is dead. 
  3. Cadoryll died nine years ago. 
  4. Pierce Accolon died forty-one years ago, in the war between Nemeth and Seaside Kingdom. 
  5. Hamelia Accolon was sentenced to death by beheading for participating in Thulin Dracos plot to overthrow Uther, but she somehow escaped Camelot. Whereabouts unknown.
  6. Thomas Somerset was sentenced to death by beheading for participating in Thulin Dracos plot to overthrow Uther, but he somehow escaped Camelot. Whereabouts unknown.
  7. **_Sewyll Accolon was Uther's Councilor of war, and is now King Ryence's Councilor of War. He is alive._**
  8. Caerdina died six years ago. 
  9. Sheith Claudin died during Caerleon's raid of Everwick twenty-nine years ago.
  10. Lewissa died three years ago. 
  11. Thorpus Elyan died during the Mercian war nineteen years ago. 
  12. **_Anna Dindrane is alive._**
  13. Demeth Dindrane died in the First Caerleon War fourteen years ago. 
  14. Prince Darian died at the Battle of Ashes thrity-three years ago. 
  15. Elsa was beheaded for for participating in Thulin Dracos plot to overthrow Uther. 
  16. Dorin was drowned by Uther's guards. 
  17. Gabryss was burnt at the stakes with her children.
  18. Lyns Everwick was burnt at the stakes with his wife and children.  



 

**Great Houses of Camelot**

 

 _1._ House _Gornemant_

Caradol Gornemant, aged 60, and:

  * his wife Galla Dindrane, aged 58. Galla Dindrane is the Lady of Denaria and sister of late Demeth Dindrane;
  * his eldest son Nydd Gornemant, aged 40. Nydd Gornemant is married to Isylda, aged 36;
  * his granddaughter Laima Gornemant, aged 17 (born to Nydd and Isylda);
  * his middle son Arbay Gornemant, killed during the Great Dragon attack;
  * his younger son Keres Gornemant, aged 29. 



 

2\. House  _Dindrane_

Anna Dindrane, aged 51, widow of Demeth Dindrane, and:

  * her son Tawton Dindrane, aged 31. Tawton is married to Myramel Somerset, aged 32;
  * her granddaughter Ravenna Dindrane, aged 17 (born to Tawton and Myramel);
  * her granddaughter Medinna Dindrane, aged 13 (born to Tawton and Myramel). 



 

3\. House  _Lamorak_

Craig Lamorak, aged 54, the Councilor of Provision at Uther's High Court and: 

  * his wife Lothiya Lynesse, aged 51. Lothia Lynesse is sister of Aystra Ragnell;
  * his son Trevelyan Lamorak, aged 35;
  * his son's wife Igressa Elyan, aged 31; Igressa is niece of Anna Dindrane.
  * his grandson Thomas Lamorak, aged 12;
  * his granddaughter Umberta Lamorak, aged 14.



 

4\. House  _Ragnell_

Kerris Ragnell, aged 37, the Lord of Balor, and: 

  * his mother Aystra Ragnell, aged 52; Aystra Ragnell is sister to Lothiya Lynesse;
  * his wife Gladia Ragnell, aged 36;
  * his son Hengest Ragnell, slain in Prince's Arthur's patrol in the forest of Brechfa;
  * his daughter Mariessa Ragnell, aged 16.



 

5\. House  _Somerset_ *****

Thomas Somerset, aged 50, cousin of Dragonlord Thulin. Thomas Somerset vanished after the conspiracy to overthrow Uther shortly after the Great Purge was unmasked.

  * his wife, Hamelia Accolon, aged 50, disappeared with him;
  * his daughter, Myramel Somerset, aged 32, wife to Tawton Dindrane;
  * his granddaughter Ravenna Dindrane, aged 15;
  * his granddaughter Melinna Dindrane, aged 13.



 

6\. House  _Gorlois_ ******

Morgause Gorlois, aged 28, the High Priestess of the Isle of the Blessed, and:

  * her father Ector Gorlois, slain in the battle during one of the Gwynedd wars;
  * her mother Vivienne Gorlois, died during the Great Purge;
  * her sister Morgana Gorlois, aged 24, believed to be lost to the Dark Sorcery. 



 

7\. House  _Pendragon_

Arthur Pendragon, aged 22, the rightful king of Camelot, believed to be slain in the patrol in the forest of Brechfa and also to have turned into a wraith, and: 

  * his father Uther Pendragon, poisoned by Guinevere and Rion Gingawaine;
  * his mother Ygraine Du Bois, died giving birth to Arthur;
  * his uncle Tristan Du Bois, killed by Uther Pendragon in a single combat;
  * his uncle Agravaine Du Bois, missing since the Great Purge. 



 

8\. House  _Gedref_

Ursula Gedref, aged 36, depraved of lordship over the Gedref, and: 

  * her husband, Ollwen, killed during the Cornelius Sigan attack;
  * her son, Owaine, aged 18, believed to be slain in Prince Arthur's patrol in the forest of Brechfa.



 

9\. House  _Gaheris_

Vyda Gaheris, aged 64, the Lady of Daobeth and:

  * her late husband Ulwich Gaheris, uncle of Uther Pendragon. Ulwich was the heir to the throne of Mountain Kingdom;
  * her son Safir Gaheris, aged 47. Safir is married to Blasinia, aged 42;
  * her grandson Eric Gaheris, aged 24 (born to Safir and Blasinia); 
  * her grandson Vidor Gaheris, aged 21 (born to Safir and Blasinia), the knight of Camelot;  
  * her son Nentres Gaheris, aged 42. Nentres is married to Enida, aged 38. 
  * her grandson Caridoc Gaheris, aged 21 (born to Nentres and Enida). 



 

10\. House  _Sagramore_

Deos Sagramore, aged 39, the Councilor of Camelot of Uther's High Court and the Secretary of King Ryence, and:

  * his father, Sullum Sagramore, aged 58. Sullum Sagramore is brother of Vyda Gaheris;
  * his mother Loana Vortimer, aged 58;
  * his wife Rollisa Sagramore, aged 40.
  * his daughter Ewina Sagramore, aged 18.



 

11\. House  _Vortimer_

Bray Vortimer, aged 44, and: 

  * his father Guon Vortimer, aged 61. Guon Vortimer is brother of Loana Vortimer.



 

12\. House  _Accolon_

Sewyll Accolon, aged 46, Councilor of War at Uther's and King Ryence's High Court, and: 

  * his sister Hamelia Accolon, aged 50, disappeared after the Great Purge;
  * his niece, Myramel Somerset, aged 32, wife to Tawton Dindrane. 



 

13\. House  _Leon_

Sir Leon, aged 31, Commande of the Knights of Camelot at Uther's and King Ryence's High Court, and: 

  * his father Pelles Leon, aged 52;  Pelles is brother of Talessia Gallada. 
  * his mother Melissa Leon, aged 50. 



 

14\. House  _Pellinore_

Bors Pellinore, aged 37, the Lord of Nemeton, and 

  * his wife, Lorbenia Pellinore, aged 35;
  * his son, Modron Pellinore, aged 16, believed to be slain in Prince Arthur’s patrol in Brechfa;
  * his mother-in-law, Talessia Gallada, aged 55. Lady Gallada is sister to Pelles Leon.
  * his father-in-law, Dolen Gallada, aged 54.



 

15\. House  _Gingawaine_

Ryence Gingawaine, aged 60, King of Camelot, and: 

  * his sister Yrien Gingawaine, aged 40, the Councilor of Camelot of King Ryence;
  * his nephew Rion Gingawine ******* , aged 15.



 

16\. House  _Blanchefleur_

Enid Blanchefleur, aged 53, the Treasurer of Uther's High Court: 

  * his wife Matheya Blanchefleur, aged 49;
  * his son Marcus Blanchefleur, aged 30. Marcus is married to Iseut, aged 28; 
  * his grandson Gorman Blanchefleur, aged 9 (born to Marcus and Iseut); 
  * his daughter Meliassa Blanchefleur, aged 27. Meliassa is married to Orien Pelles, aged 28;
  * his granddaughter Olivia Pelles, aged 9 (born to Meliassa and Orien);
  * his sister Lynsa Blanchefleur, aged 56. 



 

17\. House  _Meirchion_

Segma Meirchion, aged 38, the Lady of Ascetir, and:

  * her mother Isotta Meirchion, aged 68. Isotta is sister of Tuwal Blanchefleur, the late father of Enid Blanchefleur;
  * her son Aglovale, slain in Prince Arthur’s patrol in Brechfa;
  * her son Evaine, slain in Prince Arthur’s patrol in Brechfa.



 

18\. House  _Cynric_

Hector Cynric, aged 45, the Councilor of Trade at Uther's High Court and the Treasurer of King Ryence. 

 

19\. House  _Caelia_

 Leanora Caelia, aged 26, the Councilor of Trade of King Ryence and:

  * her late husband Sir Randon Caelia, who was killed by bandits who stole the Crystal of Neahtid. 



 

20\. House  _Catigern_

Glydos Catigern, aged 68, the Lord of Asgorath. 

 

21\. House Geraint

Astol Gerain, aged 44, Councilor of Provision of King Ryence.

 

22\. House Lucan

Nuss Lucan, aged 58, the Lord of Landshire. 

 

23\. A recently established House  _Monmouth._

 

* House Somerset is not an actual House with a voting ring because Myramel Somerset joined House Dindrane when she married Tawton Dindrane.  

** Since Morgana is lost, it is believed House Gorlois is no more. 

*** Lady Yrien had had another son before Rion, but the boy ran away from the family when Yrien was forced to send him to Daobeth since Uther never recognized Yrien’s first-born as legitimate son.

 

**Camelot territories and their Lords, Ladies and heirs**

 

1\. Territories which used to belong to the Mountain Kingdom before Uther's conquest, commonly referred to as "West", "The Westerners", "Western Lands", lands behind the White Mountains, etc. 

 

  * Asgorath, governed by Lord Glydos Catigern, aged 68. Lord Catigern is childless. 
  * Daobeth, governed by Lady Vyda Gaheris, aged 64. Her son Safir Gaheris, aged 47, is the heir of the territory. 
  * Denaria, governed by Lady Galla Dindrane, aged 58. Her son Nydd Gornemant, aged 40, is the heir of the territory. 
  * Landshire, governed by Lord Nuss Lucan, aged 58. Lord Lucan is childless.



 

2\. Territories which used to belong to the Seaside Kingdom before Uther married Ygraine Du Bois: 

 

  * Gedref, not governed since the lordship of Lady Ursula Gedref was denounced. 
  * Nemeton, governed by Lord Bors Pellinore, aged 37. Nemeton has no heir because Modron Pellinore is believed to be slain in Prince Arthur's patrol. 
  * Balor, governed by Lord Kerris Ragnell, aged 37. His daughter Mariessa Ragnell, aged 16, is the heir of the territory. 



 

3\. Other territories: 

  * Ascetir, governed by Lady Segma Meirchion, aged 38. Ascetir has no heir because Segma's sons, Aglovale and Evaine were slain in Prince Arthur’s patrol in Brechfa. 
  * Brechfa, governed by Lady Yrien Gingawaine, aged 40. Her son Rion Gingawaine, aged 15, is the heir of the territory. 



**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin chapter coming soon<3


	11. Merlin 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Merlin, Gwaine, Pliny and Bo are on track to Greenswood, young warlock tries to interpret the visions from the previous night, and the druid's daughter can help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

#  Chapter 9: Two Princes

The day was meant for traveling. Hot, but not heated, with a pandemonium of snow-white clouds in the sky, the summer seemed drowning in light as they were making way to the Greenswood village. They had reached the Mercian road, but Pliny insisted that they would not stick to the road itself, but rather walk parallel to it. The horseless druids seen on one of the main trade routes of Camelot could spark some questions from the patrols, Merlin understood, and that’s why they kept walking through the meadows and thin grooves, through the sea of green, yellow and brown, through the spicy scents of flowers, the seldom buzzing bees and dragonflies.

It was way past midday when Pliny asked to have some rest and took a seat on the dry stump on the verge of the green grove. Bo was quick to offer her father a waterskin, and Merlin acquired the first chance to have a private moment with Gwaine.

“Been too much in your thoughts, haven’t you?” Gwaine patted him on the shoulder.

“I guess,” Merlin said, blinking.

“You saw something bad? In that dream? Something that makes you so nervous?” Gwaine inquired. “Maybe Bo can help? She is good at healing, she says.”

“I’m not sick,” Merlin resisted. “It’s not about healing. What do I ask her of? A potion against bad dreams? I can’t tell her of what I saw…”

“And what you saw, Merlin? A castle?”

Merlin had never experienced such visions before. _Is it magic? Is it some new gift? Morgana has seen something in her dreams, and sometimes she saw what was to come. Can I be doing the same? Well, of course not. I was not sleeping. I heard the voice, right, the voice from the forest. That voice woke me up from the dream. And the visions… they were not like dreams at all, right? Dreams are different, they are fluid, fragile, evanescent, they may seem solid at certain moments, but they would always twist and turn and melt away when you expect it not. Those things were like memories. Memories about two blokes?_

“I think I saw memories. I think I saw the days of the past. Although maybe…” the rustle of the leaves turned into a summer melody of thoughts in his head. _What if I saw the future? What if…_

“Maybe what?”

“You know,” Merlin said, his look jumping from Pliny to his daughter. “I think maybe Bo _can_ help me…”

Gwaine’s sharp-chinned face arranged into a thoughtful expression, too concerned for a carefree summer breeze that was wrapping the grove.

“See, fella, when I met you in Gedney, I knew you were a puzzle. A man with the kindest eyes who says he’s killed his friend. A servant of the crown prince who’d shit-talk his master without a trace of fear. A raunchy being who’d not stop from seducing a royal in an inn. And now with all this magic… You’re a puzzle inside a puzzle, wrapped in mystery. Does Arthur know what kind of gem has landed in his arms?”

 _Arthur_. The feeling was born in his heart the instant he heard the prince’s name. It seemed it’d been ages since Merlin last spoke Arthur’s name, an eternity since he had last whispered this name into Arthur’s ear, locked in his arms and with the fair scent he’d recognize out of all the scents and smells in the wide world. _Arthur_. _Somewhere in this wide wicked world, you’re alone and striving to win back what is rightfully yours. We’ve been driven apart, and we’ll find each other as easily, I promise. Stay safe, I beg you. Where are you now?_

Being away from Arthur was driving Merlin mad, slowly. He had to breathe through every hour knowing Arthur was somewhere far away, heading into the opposite direction in the company of Owaine and Modron. He had to watch the skies and feel the breeze with a weird feeling of incompleteness in his deeper self, a feeling of missing a part of his senses. It seemed as though parting with Arthur had created an invisible barrier that separated Merlin from all the other people. His sadness had started to transform into the odd feeling of loneliness, the loneliness that was stretching farther than the horizon, where Arthur’s image seemed to dwell: somewhere beyond the southern line.

“Merlin?” Bo was standing in front of him already. Merlin blinked: he thought she was Gwaine. _I’m getting too distracted with the thought-diving. I must stay focused. Is it because of the sunstone?_ “Gwaine said you need some help?”

Merlin noticed Gwaine talk to Pliny, chewing something from Hunith’s provision bag.

“Er… right, you can. What do you know about seers?”

Bo’s unfazed and easy expression changed, as though a raincloud eclipsed the sun.

“Why are you asking me?”

“Bo, I… It’s something important to me.”

“What? Seers? Looking for some insights into your future or what?”

Bo had indeed inherited the wariness with her mother’s milk. Even though Merlin and Gwaine had saved her and her father from the bandits and the supposed slave traders, she was reluctant to discuss anything that touched upon magic.

“Bo, listen... I’m not wondering where you and your father are going. But I’ve chosen to help you anyway. Can you please help me, too? I’m not asking you to reveal any secrets. Just so that I can understand.”

“Understand what?”

“How can seers be sure that what they see are scenes of the future, but not of the past?”

Bo smiled.

“You silly. Seers can _only_ see the future. They never see the past.”

“Why?”

“The future is ever unshaped, and the seer, just like everybody else, is an element that can play a part in shaping the path that will unravel. Seer is but a tool, a tool through which the many unshaped futures can speak. The past in never unshaped, it is always solid and manifested. And it is silent, and speaks through no tools. Seer does not have the power to dispel the stone mists of the past.”

“And who has?”

“The past is hidden in crystals – but it takes a great deal of magic skills to discover the visions of the past in the distorted glass, something more than a gift of seer. Also, spirits can show us visions of the past, but spirits dwell in the spirit world…”

“What spirits?”

“All spirits. Spirits of the forests. Spirits of the streams. Spirits of the mountains. Spirits of the otherworld. There are many spirits, but they are all in the spirit world, and our worlds exist in different realms ever since the Gates of Avalon were sealed.”

“And these spirits… er… can they, by any chance, you know?”

“Can they what?”

“Can spirits come into our world?”

“I really don’t know that. You’re asking of the great mysteries, of the very threads out of which magic is made. All I know is that there is only one creature that deals with the spirit world.”

“The Cailleach,” Merlin finished.

Merlin was sure he was not a seer. _The voices I’ve heard in the forest must have been the voices of the spirits._ _Is it possible that the Cailleach has allowed the good spirits to contact me when she tried to attack me? Could the sunstone magic have backfired on her and brought about the consequences even the gatekeeper of the spirit world was unaware of?_

“Bo, my child, come help,” old Pliny called for his daughter just in time to prevent her from asking all the uncomfortable questions that dawned in her mind when Merlin revealed his knowledge about the gatekeeper of the spirit world. _She must not be too worried. The Cailleach is a legend told by so many._

Gwaine tried to laugh at something the old druid said, but he at best managed to produce a weird sound and arrange his face into something between a grin and a smirk.

“What did she tell you?” he whispered as he came to stand close to Merlin.

“I’m probably not a seer,” Merlin smiled. 

“That’s good. You’d be overweighed with puzzles if you turned out to be a seer, wouldn’t you? And?”

Merlin gaze drowned in the hypnotizing greenery of the grove. So bemused was he by the leaves gently caressed by the summer wind that he thought they were trying to whisper something to him, to talk to him in the same voice somebody had talked to him the previous night. But the leaves were just leaves, and the wind was naught more than the wind. Gwaine, who couldn’t help but watch Merlin, aimed his gaze at the grove and frowned as he recognized nothing peculiar about the trees and failed to understand why Merlin kept staring in that direction.

“You’re fine, fella?” he asked impatiently. “What if…” 

“I think I’ve met spirits in the forest last night.”

“Spirits? There are no spirits,” Gwaine shook his head to add the confidence to his voice. “There can’t be. Not here.”

“There _are_ spirits, but see, they all dwell in Avalon, behind the sealed gates of Avalon.”

“What you mean to say? Did you travel to Avalon last night? Did you have a key to unlock those gates or what?”

“Of course not. I remained in the forest. I never left the forest. They woke me up. They called me. They showed me the past. There’s no other explanation. Bo said the past can be peered at only through crystals or spirits. I surely had no crystal last night and…”

“You wear a bloody yellow shining stone on your chest and you say you have no crystal?”

“Oh….”

It felt as though Gwaine had just slammed him with something heavy. Sunstone. _Bloody hell, how could I forget? Maybe I’ve got used to it? So used I can’t notice it anymore… What even is this sunstone, I still don’t know, and won’t know unless I see Gaius. Gaius, Gaius, you sly old trickster, you need to be tough enough to withstand the storm that has taken the castle… Please…_

“Did you see anything else except for that castle by the sea?” Gwaine pressed the point.

“It wasn’t just about the castle. I saw two blokes. I think they were fifteen or something like that. A dark-haired and a fair-haired one.”

“What did they do? Who were they?”

“They both were princes, from what I understood. But I can’t be sure. One was meant to squire for another, and he wasn’t too fond of the job, well, _I_ can certainly understand him. And then they fought, and the fair-haired one nearly fell off the cliff, but the dark-haired one saved him with magic… And then they sort of came to understanding… I guess…”

Gwaine’s forehead got covered with wrinkles from the intense guesswork that ought to be going on his mind.

“Why did the spirits even choose to show you these…hm… events? Two blokes fighting and coming to peace?”

“I don’t know,” Merlin was himself trying, rather aimlessly, to follow every path of thoughts in his head, hoping it would lead him to a proper solution. _There can’t be riddles without solution, right?_ “They reminded me of Owaine and Modron for some reason. But now that I realize they were two princes… Bloody hell!”

His scream seemed to frighten some birds that were nesting in the cool shadows of the trees, but Merlin didn’t care. _This, the solution, the key, the trace!_  

“Gwaine, we’re so stupid! Two princes, can’t you see?!”

“What in the wide world am I bloody supposed to bloody see?”

“There are two princes in Camelot now, aren’t there? Two, Prince Arthur and that bloke, the nephew of the new king!”

“You mean Rion?”

“Yes, yes, yes! Gwaine, isn’t it odd that there were two princes in my dreams and that there are two princes in Camelot at the moment?”

“Odd?!” Gwaine slapped his own face and laughed hysterically. “Odd?! Merlin, damn it, what’s _not_ odd about you?” 


	12. Merlin 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwaine and Merlin reach Greenswood and say goodbye to Pliny and Bo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

**Chapter 10: New Friends**

The villages on their way kept growing larger and larger. The Mercian road was well maintained and actively used, with slow heavy carts moving both ways, always accompanied by the gloomy horsemen who Merlin would never wish to cross his path with.

“What are they guarding?”

“Weapons, probably,” Gwaine shrugged, trying to catch the fly that had been nesting on his shoulder. They were walking though high grass. “The White Mountains have hell lotta mines, you know. Iron, and smithies, and weapons. They do a lot of weapons in Howden and sell ‘em to Mercia. I heard Uther set up mines there when he became king of the Five Kingdoms, and trade with Mercia made him piss rich. He probably regretted it later.”

“Why?” Merlin hesitated to believe that someone like Uther would regret being rich. _He put so much efforts into the Five Kings Treaty earlier this year it seemed his life depended on it._

“Because Mercian army got armed with the very same weapons Uther so kindly sold ‘em and then attacked Camelot.”

“Oh. Right. Wait, what?! Uther was selling weapons to a king that later attacked him with those very weapons?! How could he be so?...”

“Irresponsible?” Pliny jumped into discussion. He was breathing heavily as they kept walking a bit too fast for him.

“To say the least! Wasn’t he always cautious when it came to safety?”

“Fella, he’s dead,” Gwaine rolled his eyes. “You don’t have to talk respectfully of him, you realize that? You can say things honestly. He was a mad hunting dog, always sniffing for prey.”

“Not before the Purge,” Pliny’s voice was sweetly mysterious, the tone Merlin would often hear in the Southern Village when the old women would gather children to share some old bedtime stories shortly before sunset.

“What was different about him before the Purge?” Merlin tried to sound as carefree as the butterfly that was playing in front of him with her bluish wings.

“Before the Purge, he had magic to rely on. A powerful sorceress was a member of his court, and other kings and queens would never dare to strike Camelot. When Uther chose to turn his back on magic, the shadow of war was cast upon this land. War with Mercia, first of all, and the horrible siege of Camelot…”

“Wars with Gwynedd,” Gwaine added.

“War with Conrwall, war with Essetir.” Pliny nodded. “It’s a miracle Camelot has managed to get up after the blows she had suffered.”

 _And how many more blows she’ll have to suffer before she finally stands strong and enjoys the peaceful life?_ Merlin’s and Gwaine’s gazes met, and because of the vague cheerlessness in the long-haired man’s eyes, it seemed to Merlin they were both thinking about the same. _Arthur, for the love of Camelot, don’t start the war before it needs to be started. What if by some lucky twist of fate we will have a chance to reach peace without shedding blood? What if you and young Rion can reach an understanding, just like the two blokes in my dream?_

The village of Greenswood appeared on the horizon when the tired sun that was slowly rolling westwards picked a sharper angle. It was the biggest village Merlin had ever seen: even from afar, it was clear that it was at least twice the size of the Southern Village of Camelot. There was something butter-sweet about the yellow sunglow wrapping the outskirts of the wooden houses, something soothing about the feeling of a long bright summer day coming to a peaceful close, and something relieving about the sight of a busy village nested safely between two low grass-carpeted hills. So different was it from the isolated, danger-harboring forests of northern Brechfa that Merlin’s heart filled with the promises of hope for an ordinary world that would arrive one day, the world where people would lead their lives the way they’d consider the best, and nobody would try to hurt Arthur. _One day, this world will come._

The village was so big it had multiple streets: one, as Merlin could notice, was meant to serve for the trading carts and caravans moving from the White Mountains to Mercia. The pigs, hens, geese and other animals somehow managed to stay away from that street, even though the strong smell of soil mixed with horseshit was shooting up Merlin’s nose.

“That’s the farthest we go,” Pliny said, wipping the fat sweat drops off his forehead. They stopped not far from the first old stone shack. “You’re the company every traveler can dream of, lads. We owe you our…”

“Wait, aren’t you going to go to the tavern with us? To have a tankard of cold mead? After the long day of walking?” Gwaine sounded hurt and disappointed, and Merlin noticed the sad sparks in Bo’s eyes as well. _They could be happy together, right?_

“As much as we wish, we can’t afford such pleasure,” Pliny tried to be as polite as possible. “Our journey must resume, for we’re not traveling out of fun, but for a very special reason. The reason that must be put above all the pleasures, even such tempting as the tankard of cold mead,” he turned to Merlin. “Thanks to both of you for saving our lives.”

“We never forget friends,” Bo added shily and blushing instantly.

“That much is true,” Pliny nodded. “I can’t begin to tell you how it warms an old man’s heart to know that Camelot still has the brave youth that hold no prejudice against the druids.”

“I hold more prejudice against those who hold prejudice against druids,” Merlin was quick to assure.

“If you ever happen to be in a trouble in a druids’ settlement, just ask for Pliny and Bo,” Bo tried to smile even though it was clear tears were welling up in her young voice. “Thank you for being so kind”

Suddenly, Gwaine fished out a blue flower from the pocket of his pants, and offered it, rather clumsily, to the smiling Bo.

“I know it’s gonna fade pretty soon, but I promise you, the memories of our meeting will not fade for me. You’re so special Bo, I wish we could have more time and…”

Bo threw her arms around Gwaine’s neck and pressed their lips together for a short but vibrant kiss. Merlin blushed and turned away, for the image of Bo and Gwaine in the forest floated to the top of his mind so quickly he felt the need to shake his head to make them sink again. Bo’s kiss was as vigorous as the summer night, and full of hopes that the world would treat Gwaine better than it had treated herself and her father. Pliny, despite his presumed conservative manners, waited patiently for the kiss to end before shaking hands with Merlin and Gwaine.

“Good bye, young men, and may you be brave and lucky on your way!”

Merlin watched them go northward, towards the higher of the two hills, with a scratching sadness; parting with kind strangers reminded him of parting with Arthur, and the memories of saying goodbye to Arthur and watching his figure grow ever smaller on the horizon could make the sky go black for him. _Arthur, where are you? Are you even fine?_

“Come on, fella, let’s go,” Gwaine petted him on the shoulder. “The farewells are best done quickly.”

“Have you done many farewells in your life?”

“Many enough to count, but too few to break my heart,” Gwaine snorted as they resumed walking. “Bloody hell, I hate this smell, hate it when it stinks of horseshit and gooseshit right on the main street, see? That’s what is bad about big villages, even though they pay you handsomely… The Gedney air was as fresh as the pine tree in winter.”

“You don’t hate me?” Merlin asked suddenly, as they began walking past the wooden houses; there were many people walking along the street, too, many seemed to be returning from the field work, and nobody seemed to be paying attention to a couple of strangers in the village: so used were they to the tradesmen, merchants, soldiers, nomads and travelers crossing Greenswood day and night.

“Hate you? Why?”

“You could have gone with Bo.”

“Just because I gave her a flower doesn’t mean I’m ready to, you know, marry her or something,” Gwaine tried to brush off.

“I saw you two in the forest last night,” Merlin blurted out, regretting breaking his secret the very next moment.

“Saw us?” Gwaine asked doubtfully.

“You were making out in the forest at night,” Merlin said through a smile.

“You little sneaky rabbit,” Gwaine’s finger touched Merlin’s cheek. “Been watching us in the forest doing nasty things? How long were you staying?”

“I swear I wasn’t looking at all, I just happened to be passing by, you know, being enchanted by the spirit voices…”

“Always knew you were a greedy little rabbit, it was all over your eyes in Gedney when I gave you that advice about the prince. All the things you’d do to him, they got written in your eyes immediately… To think he hadn’t noticed it for two years, he must be wearing a cabbage on his shoulders, right?”

Merlin let out a free laughter that caused his stomach to hurt. _Arthur with a cabbage on his head, that’s something. Maybe I’ll call him cabbage head latter. Just don’t lose that cabbage, please._

“You perverted habits put aside, no, fella, I’m not mad at you. I’ve promised I’d be looking over you and I’d be taking you to Camelot, and that’s my goal. I might look as carefree as the nightingale, but I tell you, I stay true to my word. We’ll just have a tankard of cold mead, oh Goddess, I hope they haven’t run out of cold mead, and I’m sure we’ll reach Camelot by nightfall. You’re fine with that?”

“Fine. It really stinks of horses here, doesn’t it?”

“It stinks worse than in the horse’s arse. Probably because the inn has a horse-changing thing, too, and runs large stables.” 


	13. Merlin 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a conversation with Gwaine at the Greenswood inn, Merlin meets somebody he feared he'd never see again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

**Chapter 11: Dread of his Nightmares**

The inn was large indeed, and the building looked like a square that lacked one side. Right in the missing side’s place, there was a spacious yard with a well, a special stand to tie the horses and buckets to feed them for those who intended to make a short stop only. The inn had two storeys, and the doors were wide open. Merlin could already see the dark-brown tables and hear the loud talks of the visitors.

“Be welcomed,” the innkeeper, a mustached grey-haired man with peach-pink cheeks and round belly, dressed in a stained grey shirt, opened his arms in a friendly manner. “Travelers, young men?”

“That’s how it is,” Gwaine nodded. Merlin glanced around: few people seemed to be paying any attention to them, except for a short old man who, with a bored expression, was tossing a coin over an empty tankard.

“Where you’re heading?”

“To the castle of Camelot,” Gwaine said, finally dropping the heavy pack on the floor, right under the table.

“What brings you to Camelot?”

“We…eh, we heard a lot about construction work there, and thought about earning some coins. We’d be normally in Brechfa working on the fields, but with Cenred’s army…”

“Oh, that piece of ratshit! Cenred be damned, he and all his shithole of a kindom,” the innkeeper said to a mild roar of laughter from a couple of visitors. “Hate him and his crooked ways. Bringing an army in the dead of the night? Why, be a true king, a true knight and declare an open war on Camelot! Hopefully, his majesty King Ryence shows that brute some strength and racks his skull.”

“There’re still no news from king Uth… king Ryence?” Gwaine asked casually.

“Oh, no. He took the Howden host to Brechfa… When was it, Marvy?”

“When was what?” a woman shouted from behind the table.

“When did the king lead the soldiers to Brechfa?”

“Been four days!”

“Aye, four days. The news won’t make us wait long, I’m sure we’ll be celebrating the end of war soon enough. As for constructions… Why don’t you fellas try mines in Howden?”

“My friend’s too feeble to be a miner,” Gwaine noted with a content smirk, pointing at Merlin with a nod.

“He surely is. That’s why he better order something to put on some muscles, right?”

Merlin tried to laugh, but he was more busy with memorizing the lies Gwaine had just told. _We’re just two lads heading to Camelot to work on the construction. We’d normally be in Brechfa, but because of the war, we need a new place to make some coins._

“Anyway, what would it be, lads?”

Gwaine ordered two tankards of cold mead and a roasted spiced chicken to balance it out. The chicken would be the first hot meal since the day they left Ealdor.

“Tell me,” Merlin tried to clean the stain on the table with the sleeve of his cherry-red tunic. “You don’t think I’ve bitten more pie than I can chew?”

“What pie?” Gwaine smiled.

“I mean... Are you helping me, because, you know, you believe we’ll succeed or for some other reasons?”

“And what makes you ask it?” Gwaine refused to take off his smile.

“It’s just that, you see, I had seen you two times before you came to Ealdor with Owaine and Modron, and you’re eager to risk your life with us. And you were the only one who proposed a strategy to try and live a little longer. Why are you helping us, then?”

“Because that’s how I am. Easy-rolling.”

“We aren’t expected to roll easy,” Merlin smirked.

“You think I really believe you’re planning a holiday? You think I can’t smell the danger of it all?”

“Yet here you are. Despite all the stench of danger, you are with me, in an inn, expecting a light supper and heading to Camelot for _construction work_.”

“Let’s just say. Merlin, little rabbit, you see, I done a lot, been through a lot, but we’re much alike, even though you don’t want to admit it, which I understand very well. I mean, who’d want to admit that he has a lot in common with a drunkard that’s working as a tavern guard, but, wait, don’t interrupt me, please, let me finish, it’s bloody important to me. See, I been through much, just like you, and I didn’t always have everything good for me, didn’t have this feeling, see, that people were all bloody kind and nobody was there to care for me since the day I chose to follow my own way. I seen bad things, just like you, I guess, but I’m still kind, I tell you, fella. Wouldn’t hurt a rabbit. Wouldn’t hurt anybody unless they hurt me or innocent people, and this kindness, this kindness that remains in people even when they suffered enough to make their hearts go coal-black, this kindness is in me, as it is in you, as it is in many people. That’s something I recognized about you that night when we met in Gedney. And when we kissed. So you can tell me all you want about how you killed your friend, or how you think your killed her, but I am not buying it. It was anything but simple, I refuse to believe that one day you just woke up and thought: today I wanna try killing my friend. It was different, I just know. Uther was not a kind man, and neither seems this new king. I want the kind people to rule over this land, and if you love the puppy prince, he must be a kind man. I’d rather see him than anybody else on this damn throne.”

Gwaine’s eyes, which remained fixed on Merlin, were radiating a fiery and brutally honest glow, the flames of openness that were swallowing Merlin and burning him from inside. The suddenly poured outburst of feelings did something to him; he was feeling dizzy and throwing looks around the dusty inn. All of a sudden, he wished naught but to escape the room, to feel the cool wind, to have all those people feasting on their meals out of sight.

“Gwaine, thank you,” Merlin blurted out, not having enough confidence to look into Gwaine’s eyes. He hadn’t met kind strangers that often; for some reason, he chose to stay away from the Southern Village and Lower Town folk, and people from Arthur’s environment were often too snobbish to even consider Merlin’s existence. “Thanks a million times. I really feel blessed to have someone like you by my side now. I would’ve gone mad alone, I guess. Without, you know...”

“You’re never alone.”

“How so?”

“The last time I checked you were madly in love with Arthur, right?”

“Arthur’s away for now,” Merlin felt he would not mind drowning his sadness in mead.

“Oh, Merlin, come on. Listen, little rabbit, since you found my advice so useful the last time... Listen to this one. You always have someone you love in your heart. That’s what it is all about.”

“About what?”

“About this feeling erupting between you two. It’s all about this feeling. Call this feeling what you want, little fella. It’s always about this feeling, even when life doesn’t flow as planned. Despite all the twists of life, you gotta believe in each other, you gotta keep faith in this feeling, you gotta lean on each other. Don’t go mad, don’t go weak, don’t lose hope, keep your mind cool, make plans and fight. You gotta be strong for Arthur.”

“Arthur’s the one who’s been stronger than me in many ways.”

“Oh, Merlin, little rabbit, you think Arthur's always strong? Think he doesn’t cry for you, doesn’t lie awake at night, dreaming of you? Stiff as he may be, he is as much in love as you are. He must be madly in love with you, think of all the headache he was ready to endure when he chose to be with you.”

“Your mead and your supper,” the innkeeper bumped two tankards on the table, spitting some smelly liquid over the old stains. “Paying now?”

“Sure thing,” Merlin nodded. “How much is that?”

“Two ales and a spice roasted chicken, bread and onion. That’ll be thirty-five yews.”

“Here you go,” Merlin fished out four ten-yew coins from his pocket.

“Keep the change,” Gwaine added, to which innkeeper smiled and bowed down, rather sarcastically. “You run a good inn.”

“Do you mind if I go out?” Merlin asked when the innkeeper disappeared out of sight.

“You’re fine?” Gwaine tried to mask the worried tone.

“Yeah, I just... want some time on my own, if you’re fine with it.”

“Did I say anything to make you feel bad?”

“Goddess, no, Gwaine, really, you’ve been most supportive. I just want to breathe some air.”

“Fine. Will you grab our bags?”

“Sure.”

 ***

The evening, ripe for sunset, but still full of mature yellow sunlight, was drawing visitors to the inn. Merlin could feel the smell of burning wood carried by the thin layers of ash-grey smoke that began to tower over the houses. People were gathering by the entrance of the inn, some of them holding drinks in their hands; they were coming to exchange news, to learn the fresh gossips and to share the village stories.

Merlin dropped the bags on the bench in the shadow of the inn, and started watching people. _They are happy, they seem unbothered by what’s happening in the castle of Camelot and not too troubled by Cenred’s invasion. They are not angry, why should I be? Goddess, Gwaine’s right. Gwaine’s bloody right. I can get lost in this sadness that comes from feeling sore for this bloody coup stealing the peaceful summer from me and Arthur, our first summer, the summer that could have been filled with love and forest trips and kisses by the streams and sharing body heat in the pouring rain... But if I do get lost in this sadness, the chances are high we’ll not live to see another summer._ He remembered the morning when he had woken up in Arthur’s chambers after they had returned from the troll-killing mission. _I was going through the same thoughts back then, oh bloody hell! I was lying in bed and staring at the raindrop-stunned window and digesting the news of the Cenred’s invasion. I thought that the war was awful for stealing Arthur from me and making it difficult to protect him. Bloody hell, the war’s not awful for ruining my romance, the war’s a terrible, wicked thing. Me and Arthur must work to stop it, to not let these flames turn into a forest fire, right?_

Merlin rose to his feet and started walking next to the well. _I am not doing just to reunite with Arthur. For what is our love worth in the world where men’s hands are constantly on the hilts of their swords? Only in the land that abides by peace will we feel free to love without fear. I gotta Keep my mind cool and make plans. We have a plan. I must find a way to lift the sunstone curse and meet Arthur in Gedref. Gedref’s castle is a good start. It must be._

Merlin spent some more time thinking of all the outcomes Arthur’s decision to start a rebellion could lead to, and watching more and more riders come to the inn. _Will the court support Arthur? Will they stand united for the dead King’s son? Will they be reasonable enough to overlook the blatantly made up rumors?_

Merlin’s ear twitched when he heard something about Gedref being discussed in the crowd by the entrance. He made a few steps to approach the crowd, hoping to overhear something about the war.

“Gedref has that gloomy labyrinth, the place feared and avoided by all the small folk, a queer place, and sinister, dark as the empty grave!” the statement came from a rather drunk voice. “His mother, Queen Ygraine comes from Gedref, as well as Tristan, his uncle, remember?”

“Was Tristan his uncle? I heard he was his brother!” someone shouted merrily.

“The brother? The prince had no brothers, you stinky old fool! He was the only son of the king! That Tristan was his uncle, his mother’s brother!”

Merlin could feel his ears pricking as though by themselves, a desperate reaction of his body that wished to learn everything about Arthur. He made a few more steps, trying to follow the discussion through the noise of the busy street and the noise of the horses. Gwaine walked out of the tavern, stumbling upon something and granting a smile to some girl on a horse not far by the entrance.

 “Ready to move on?” he asked.

“Yeah. Just grab our bags, won’t you? Right there, on the benches,” Merlin pointed rather distractedly.

“… dragon wings behind his back, and he challenged Uther the Great and Uther defeated him! Little did the king know that his own son was cursed just like Tristan was!”

Merlin felt disgusted with the way people were twisting the facts of life into the rumours that wouldn’t make any sense if only everybody had the will to stop and consider them seriously. _What Owaine and Modron said about the rumours has been right all along. King Ryence is indeed spreading rumours about Arthur, but why are people so eager to believe in it?_

“Aye, it’s a family curse, a curse that runs through Arthur’s mother line!”

“That’s some gibberish you’re talking!”

“Gibberish? Gibberish? And who killed the guards then? And why is Arthur’s tomb empty and the guards slain?”

“I don’t know nothing about the slain guards, but if Tom doesn’t bring that mead soon, I feel like slaying someone, too!”

People started walking into the already-overcrowded inn, and Merlin felt bitterly sore from the tiny bit of conversation he had just witnessed. The most horrible thing about it was that Tristan had really risen from the grave, but not because Arthur’s uncle was controlled by some dark magic of the evil labyrinth, but because his rotten body became the tool for Nimueh’s sorcery.

“Here’s your bag,” Gwaine said, helping Merlin put the lighter bag on.

When the yard in front of the entrance cleared, Merlin noticed that the rider-girl was watching him closely and rather inappropriately, as though they had met before and he owed her something. He fixed her eyes on her face, and couldn’t believe it. He blinked a couple of times and fell his mouth fall open.

She was as pale as the dark night’s moonlight, a tall shrouded and hooded figure, but it was obviously her. Morgana. The dread of his nightmares, the guilt of his past deeds and the face that had been haunting him for nearly a month now. She would appear in his dreams, feeble and coughing, pleading to explain to her why he hadn’t chosen to spare her life. Yet here she was right in front of him, so close, steps away and looking at him with the expression which suggested he was strangling her again. Merlin wanted to say something, to ask if she was real and if they could talk at all, and his mind was illuminated with the idea that maybe he could hope to beg for an apology, but then...

 “MORGAUSE!” Morgana’s hysterical shriek pierced the calm of the evening, and she glanced at the door. “MORGAUSE! HE IS HERE!”

 _Morgause?! Bloody hell, that’s bad! That’s really bad!_ Merlin’s look started jumping from various objects in his sight: old buckets, watering spot for horses, some dusty bags with wheat and grain, an old cart that lacked a wheel and a rope that lay under the cart. _A rope. Damn it, it worked with the stone dog, right? Please._ His eyes gleamed and he rose his palm to let a warm glow from his palm reach the old rope that twitched, grew black and fat before it finally took a shape of snake that started hissing and slithered Morgana’s way. Her horse spewed and stood on its end and he saw Morgana fall on the ground. _We must run. The snake won’t harm her anyway._

“Let’s go,” Merlin pulled Gwaine by the arm as people started gathering around Morgana.

“Wait! That girl’s in trouble, can’t you see?”

“Gwaine, we must go!” Merlin pulled him by the sleeve so hard he was afraid he’d tear Gwaine’s tunic.

“Are you blind or what?! She’s…”

“Gwaine, she’s no ordinary girl. She’s a witch, a dangerous one, she’s after me, she’ll kill us both if we stay, I tell you, we must run!”

However reluctantly, Gwaine finally surrendered to Merlin’s nagging hand urging him to move, and off they ran. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next updates on February, 5! Will see Merlin finally arriving at Camelot and trying to meet Gaius, and Morgana learning more about the old ways. Gwen's chapters are on the horizon, too, and King Ryence. Arthur's POV will start a while later, but Merlin and Arthur might meet earlier than that and might even find some time for, you know, poetry. 
> 
> <3


	14. Merlin 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Gwaine arrive at Camelot, as the young warlock must find the solution to the sunstone riddle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

**Chapter 12: New Camelot**

They kept running down the southern road for as long as Merlin could bear. Finally, Gwaine’s heavy, strained breathing turned into a terrible hoarse coughing, and the long-haired youth dropped the pack on the ground and bent down, leaning on his knees with his hands.

“Bloody hell, Merlin, is she a witch or a horse? She won’t be able to keep up with us, and not that she’s trying to! Look, nobody is following us!”

Merlin turned back and scanned the road, where only a couple of wandering peasants were going in the opposite direction far away. The village of Greenswood, although remotely distant, was still in his sight, and the fear born from the idea that Morgause was so close couldn’t let him breathe freely. _I still don’t know who’s more powerful. I destroyed Nimueh rather intuitively, because I thought she’d killed Gaius, and I threatened Morgause because I thought she could harm Arthur. If we were to meet face to face, she’d probably overpower me in the end. Gaius told me the priestesses trained her since her birth. Her magic must be powerful._

Stinging as his fear of Morgause was, Merlin bent down, too, and tried to savour every inhale that seemed to fill his chest with life. The southern road was entering the more wooded landscape of Camelot, the places he had grown accustomed to during his hunting trips with Arthur.

“Merlin!” there were poorly masked hints of irritation to Gwaine’s tone. “Care to explain something, fella? If she’s a witch, why d’you look like you’ve met a ghost?”

_Because I had all the reasons to believe she was dead. But now I know she’s not. She’s not dead! Not dead!_

“She _is_ a witch,” Merlin wasn’t sure Gwaine needed to know that the girl they had just met used to be the king’s ward and the lost lady Morgana, still mourned by both, the small folk of Southern Village and the nobility of the castle of Camelot. “I’ve… er… crossed paths with her and she has all the rights to wish me dead, I think. But it wasn’t exactly her that I was fearing. It’s her friend, the one she called for help. Morgause.”

“Mort-goose?”

“They travel together, and Morgause is more dangerous than the sharpest blade, for she’s the witch of the Isle of the Blessed, the priestess of the old ways,” the gust of western wind slammed them, rising a whirlwind of leaves and dust across the road, as though the forests near Avalon detested the very mention of the Isle of the Blessed.  

“The old ways? I thought the old ways faded?” Gwaine frowned.

“Then how would you explain my existence?” Merlin smiled, shouldering his pack, ready to move on. The shadows to the left were growing longer, and Merlin wanted to reach the Northern gates before the sundown.  

“You just… have magic, right?” Gwaine shouldered his pack, too, and tried to wip the sweat off his forehead. “How are you related to the old ways?”

The bittersweet truth was that Merlin knew with little and even less certainty than before that his connection to the old ways was not rooted in knowledge. He was _feeling_ it. Whenever he was tracing his slim finger across some page that belonged with the heavy black volume of a magic books, amateurishly but carefully bound by the previous owners, Merlin felt as though he was brought back to the forgotten world, which, although more distant than the world of his childhood, seemed to be the world he was terribly _missing_.

“How would you define old ways?” Merlin asked.

“A tough question, fella. From old wet nurses' stories, the old ways are the times long gone, the times when Five Kingdoms were divided and had no single king or queen, and the peace between the kingdoms was kept by the priestesses of the Isle of the Blessed and the dragonlords of Camelot. Half their stories be true, that’s what old ways are. You reckon, fella?”

“Oh. I thought differently."

"How?"

"Tought old ways meant the days when magic was...er...legal in Camelot.”

“That’s just one of the many things that used to be different when the old ways reigned.”

They started walking down the narrow path that ran parallel to the southern road, the track beaten by the thousands of wanderers that didn’t want to get under the wheels of trading carts and traveling nobles. The sunlight, however, was getting tangled up in the thin, but branchy forests, and the hour was late for carts and for noble travelers, although the lonely horsemen would ride either way now and then.   

“Where d’you know it from?” Merlin inquired. He’d lived in the castle of Camelot for so long, yet he had never thought of taking a couple of history lessons from Gaius or Geoffrey.  

“I’ve heard too many wet nurse’s stories, I guess,” Gwaine laughed. “That’s not reliable, but that’s as much as I know. So? This Mort-goose? She…”

“She has power. More than just magic. She is one of the last living priestesses of the Old Religion herself. If not the last.”

“I thought they were all gone? I thought the Isle was nothing but a decaying rock in the murky stinky lake?”

“Apparently, so did many,” Merlin’s eye caught a beautiful dance of a chirping flock of birds in the smooth sunset air. “But the cult was stronger than Uther gave him credit for. They survived the purge and managed to pass their arts to Morgause. She couldn’t do much when Uther was king, although when she grew powerful, her attacks proved bitter for Uther. But now that Uther's gone and this old Ryence is busy impersonating a war in Brechfa, Morgause is probably up to something.”

“Something bad you reckon?”

“I can’t be sure. Nobody can be sure about anything that concerns Morgause," Merlin didn't like what he was saying, but it was but the truth. Morgause had emerged again, an elusive shadow of the Old Religion whose actions were now beyond the powers of Merlin's guesswork. "Don’t think me a coward, Gwaine, but Morgause, she seems – at least to me – above good and bad, and certainly above my sympathy and my loathing. Still, if there’s one thing I am certain in… I know she’s not going to sit still now that Uther’s dead. She’ll try to gain more advantage from his death than anybody, even than the new king.”

_And she has Morgana. Morgana is alive! Thank Goddess she's alive. I haven't killed a friend, she was saved, saved somehow, probably Morgause did something! Morgause will keep her safe, I know. It's unlikely that Morgana will ever come back to Camelot, but so much the better for her... She deserves freedom and happiness after what I was forced to do. Or chose to do. Or..._

***

By the time they reached the Northern Gates, the tree leaves had no longer been scintillating with red-burnt sunset glow. As the night began to grow thick, the torches were lit all over the places, for how else could Merlin explain the fire gems hanging in the air? It was the Lower Town, where the Northern Gatehouse of the castle was towering like a sharp white-grey tooth. Merlin recalled the first time he had laid his eye on that view, on the view that had since won a special place in his heart. _That day was different: it was bright and windy, and I came by the road that led to the Southern Village._

Today, they were coming from the North, and the Lower Town, in all its stony and wooden excellence was greeting them with heart-beating lights in many windows of the high and low buildings. The late hour may have painted those buildings pale, but the hundreds of candle flames, ever warmly bright, seemed to be about to merge into a river of flickers. The Lower Town was maybe the only thing from Uther’s reign the late king could feel proud of, for the simple village had turned into a prosperous town in just thirty years, with light-grey labyrinths of walls, houses, towers, narrow tunnels, vast courtyards, roads and cozy streets spreading out in all the directions from the moat. At first glance from afar, even the castle of Camelot seemed a small pearl of pointy towers and thick walls that couldn’t dim the excellence of the Lower Town.

Merlin and Gwaine had to join the line of all the visitors that hoped to be let in despite the late hour; there were two lines, in point of fact, one inspected by a  lad with a round pimply face, and another by a clean shaved youth with pouty lips. The visitors were mostly market salesmen who got delayed in the neighboring villages and were returning with the carts of new provisions to be sold on the morrow; however, Merlin noticed some small folk, too: a boy no older than thirteen, holding his younger sister by the hand, a grandfather and his grandson, and a whole family of four, with two little girls arguing about something. 

They joined the line which was inspected by the round-faced guard. When their turn came, the guard asked them to open their packs and before long, began asking the questions, with his face as red as heated steel because of the torch light burning next to him.

“Came to work in the Lower Town, you say?”

“Aye,” Gwaine nodded. “Heard there’s much work to be done after the beast tried to burn it down.”

“Work is work, but who said the castle needed any more men to rebuild the spoiled houses? Ain’t no enough men in here? The castle’s huge, folks,” he shrugged and handed their packs back.  

“We heard many men went to war,” Merlin mumbled, trying to sound like a humble peasant that trembled at the authority of the city guard, although he had learnt from Arthur that it was one of the least prestigious duties in the king's guard, the one the knights were appointed to when they had to start their service or to be punished for something.  

“Just like they gone, they’ll come back. War can’t last forever, can it, ha? The day after tomorrow all the soldiers'll be back to the castle to warm their wives’ beds and to look after their children. There’ll be enough men to work in the Lower Town without you.”

“Listen, pal…” Gwaine tried to lower his voice, but the guard cut him off quickly.

“Ain’t your pal.”

“He didn’t mean anything bad. My friend just wants to say that we were supposed to work in Brechfa, just like we do every summer,” Merlin tried to press the point.  

“Go work on your damn fields! Brechfa’s been set free.”

“But it had been occupied for three weeks!” Merlin exclaimed. “We must somehow make up for the coins we’ve lost because of war… We’ll go to Brechfa right after the Lower Town is rebuild, we don’t intend to stay…”

“The Councilor’s of Camelot orders are clear as daylight,” annoyance was creeping into the guard’s voice and his red face seemed to be turning orange. “Lady Yrien ordered to not welcome any more construction workers.”

“I thought Lord Sagramore was the Councilor of Camelot?” Merlin whispered before shutting his mouth.

“You thought… he thought, Marvin, did you hear that?” their inspector let out a healthy laughter, addressing his fellow guard. “Well, you bloody fool, the new king has new council. The king’s sister is now the Councilor of Camelot, and she’s a much better sight than that Lord Sagramore, right, Marvin?”

“Oh, she’s a sight!” Marvin nodded approvingly, his mouth open and his tongue nearly falling out in the manner the dogs stick their tongue out when it's too hot.  

“Listen, we are really in dire need of work,” Merlin refused to give in. _I need to see Gaius. Only Gaius can tell me about sunstone and moonstone._ “Please, hear us. We’re…er…ready to win your allegiance if needed be…”

“Allegiance my foot! That’s a big word from a village boy like you,” the guard pointed somewhere with his nod and invited Merlin and Gwaine to step aside. He proceeded talking in a more measured and careful voice. “And how much are you going to offer for my allegiance?”

“We have apples and bread,” Gwaine said.

“I can buy them any time I want at the Lower Town market.”

“Two hundred yews,” Merlin offered before adding. “That’s nearly all we’ve got.”

“Two hundred and fifty, and I shall let you pass. I have Marvin whose allegiance also costs some.”

Merlin reached for his pocket, and before long they walked through the gates, taking the turn right, walking the road that encircled the moat, through the darkling wood to the Southern village.  

“They robbed you,” Gwaine complained with a rueful grin. “They completely robbed you!”

“Oh, cut it, Gwaine! They let us in. You’ve seen what they did to that old man and his grandson. Asked them to find a place in some inn on the southern road. Despite the late hour!”

“Oh, fella, haven’t you seen the number of villages on the road? There are too many to count! That old man and the grandson of his will have no trouble finding an inn. But Merlin, bloody hell, we’ve just walked into Camelot and paid ‘em guards over two hundred yews! Merlin, in some villages they earn...”

“I told ‘em that’s all we had, so they wouldn’t be suspicious. And in Camelot, they earn more than that.”

“On your head be it,” Gwaine grimaced at that. “All I’m saying is that we must try to avoid attention for as long as possible. Remember, I caused havoc in the tavern of the Rising Sun just four days ago.”

“I remember it rather well. But Gwaine, haven’t you heard him? The king will be returning from war the day after tomorrow! Have you seen all those people with the carts piled with provisions? There’s a feast planned, I’m sure, the folk will celebrate the liberation of Brechfa, it’s not like we’re the only ones who have entered the town by bribing the guards.”

“That’s mischievous of guards.”

“Sort of, but what troubles me more is that I don’t remember them at all,” Merlin shrugged.

“That’s because King Ryence took most of Uther’s knights and guards to Brechfa and replaced them with his own men. Mark my words, little rabbit, the soldiers may come the day after tomorrow, but the knights will probably have to spend a lot more time in Brecfha before King Ryence lets ‘em return to Camelot.”

Merlin found it hard to listen to Gwaine, for he was caught in a strange feeling of walking the road that seemed as familiar and homely as few other things in the wide world. He returned to Camelot, he was back two weeks after riding away to a patrol mission with Arthur and his five young knights, or soon-to-be-knights, as Arthur would always remind him. Merlin put on a wistful smile, not really understanding what actually made him smile. He was battling the desire to run into the castle and kick the door of the Gaius’s chambers open, but he knew it was too risky, for people might start asking questions if they saw the serving boy of prince Arthur in the castle. Still, he was home, in the place that welcomed him despite all its sinister past, its life-threatening secrets and the threats that would loom too often, _in the castle where he had met Arthur_. The single look at the dark towers rising amidst the black-blue sky was enough to make him cheerful. 

Gwaine persuaded him to look for a spare room in a tavern on a small street of the Southern village, the one closer to the Darkling Wood. When they entered the inn, the stout balding innkeeper was roaring and bellowing orders, shouting at some men that attempted to leave the hall without paying for their drinks. It was a rather cozy inn with oil burning in the iron-black lanterns on the walls, the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread. The innkeeper gave them a disdainful look, but when Merlin mentioned they’d be paying in advance, he suddenly began to display all the courtesies and showed them to a two-bed room with the window providing a southern view. Merlin handed him twenty alders and thanked him for his kindness.

Gwaine stood by the window, facing the dark, as Merlin began to undress himself. He was feeling too tired after walking all day, and he blamed the wicked magic of sunstone for the new, annoying pain in his lower back and his neck.

“Gonna sleep already?” Gwaine wondered, turning around to smile at Merlin.

“Right,” Merlin nodded, absently. “Too tired, and I’ll have to wake up with first light on the morrow.”

“What’s the plan?”

Merlin looked furtively across the room, for, truth be told, the plan was just a vague summary of all the things he needed to do to stay alive. He was fading because of the sunstone magic, and the only man in the whole castle to help him was Gaius, that was the plan – neither a careful nor a thought-through one.

“I’ll try to catch Gaius in the early morning. It’s the time when he runs on his errands and buys fresh bread in the bakery on the Bumpy Street. We’ll arrange my entrance into the castle and I’ll carry all my things away from there.”

“Including that weapon you were talking about?”

“Yeah, the Sidhe staff.”

“Can it really conjure lightning from thin air?”

“I think it can do far more than that.”

“What will I be doing?”

“You’ll have to try and find Gwen. You’ll need to act a lot more carefully, considering everything that happened the last time you came here.”

“Right. You mind if I go downstairs and have some ale? The innkeeper said they had a fine brew.”

“Not at all.”

“Night then.”

“Good night.”

When Gwaine shut the door, Merlin came to take a look out of the window, upon the black sky already dotted with stars. He hoped the stars were as kind to Arthur as they had been to him so far. _Wherever you are, just stay safe and never lose faith. We will see each other soon enough, I promise to you._

Merlin fell asleep easily and innocently, and for one brisk moment when his thoughts were caught somewhere between the fabrics of reality and the dream-world, he felt safe and secure in the place which used to be his home, and the sunstone was pulsing on his chest. 


	15. Merlin 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin spends his first day in "New" Camelot looking for Gaius.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

**Chapter 13: Lost Mentor**

Merlin never heard Gwaine return to their room, but when his eyelids began to twitch upon the dawn’s light, the sight of Gwaine’s tall and fit body pressing the bedsheets was the first scene to clear itself out of the blurred picture of the tiny inn room. Gwaine was lying on his back, the blanket weirdly wrapped around his pale thighs, his auburn hair – a forest bush on the dusty crumbled pillow.

As Merlin's gaze glided off down Gwaine's body, he came across something that made his eyes wide open. _Goddess, he is sleeping naked_. The sight of Gwaine's aroused manhood made his jaws drop. Merlin tried to take his eyes off Gwaine, but it was the kind of command that was easier to wish than to execute. Merlin felt an odd weakness in his chest that was quickly speading through his body to reach his hands and fingers. Merlin had never seen any other man aroused, the sight of Arthur's hardness had been the only sight he thought he could savor and taste. _Oh damn it._ Gwaine, as though he could read Merlin's mind, had a faint smile on his relaxed face. _He must be dreaming about something pleasant._

Merlin wished he had been seeing joyful dreams, too, but the pictures he could carry from his night were much too peculiar to make any sense; he remembered the colors, blue and grey, the colors that seemed to wash around him like a mass of sea. _Sea! I’ve been dreaming about sea! Was it the same sea I saw in the forest, when the spirits called me? Blimey, how the hell am I supposed to find that out?_

He was quite sure that the dreams of the previous night had not been conjured by some otherworldly spirits, for the inn where they were staying was the last place imaginable for the spirits to dwell. He woke up to the vinegary smell of yesterday’s roasted meat, the ale spilled on the floor and the sour scents of Gwaine’s body. Merlin’s gaze again slid, as though involuntary, up the curves of Gwaine’s hips, his chest and his arm, and Merlin caught himself wondering whether Gwaine’s skin tasted the way it smelled. _Goddess, what am I thinking? I need a cold bath._

Merlin’s back was stiff and as sore as it had never been when he tried to roll himself over the bed. The chain on his neck seemed to be stinging and burning his skin with icy cold itching, and the sunstone itself seemed to have added a lot in weight. _Does it know I have come to Camelot to try and somehow solve its magic riddle? Does it fear?_

He rose to his feet and put his clothes on to get downstairs for a bath of cool water. He hadn’t taken bath since the night when Arthur had made love to him in the ridge pool, and he was beginning to stink. In the tavern hall, the faded brown floor was glossing as the balding innkeeper was washing away the stains and traces of yesterday.

“Early bird, aren’t ya?” the innkeeper grinned when he saw Merlin with a chamber pot in his hands. “Young men seldom get up that early. What you need?”

“Want some bath,” Merlin mumbled, yawning.

“Walk outta back door and have some next to the well and empty the pot into a special pit, right?”

“Of course,” Merlin nodded.

The back yard had many things except for the pit where the chamber pots were emptied. It had a bathing well – the one whose waters were only used for baths and washing buckets, but never for cooking, some old carts and wheels, the hay for horses and wooden chests with Goddess only knew what. It was a tiny square propped up by houses from all the four sides; other than through the back door, it could be entered through a small archway which remained closed.

The cold water from the well served all the purposes Merlin could dream of. Not only did it help him to get rid of that stinky odor, but it also helped to cast away all the thoughts about trying the taste of Gwaine’s skin, for each bucket made Merlin shiver and his skin get covered with goosebumps. The morning air was chilly, and there seemed to be a different wind racing through the streets: a rippling, unwelcome breath, as though a ghost of autumn disturbing the fairness of a July morning. Merlin glanced up at the sky: tender was the blue, and the sunlight was ripe, but the dark-grey clouds promised rain.

He chose not to break his fast, rushing upstairs to wake Gwaine. When he entered the room, the long-haired lad was already awake, his right hand gripping his...

“Blimey, fella, you better knock!” he said, his hand flying up to line out his messed-up greasy hair and throwing the blanket all over himself. “You’re up already?”

Merlin chose to pretend he hadn't seen anything.

“Right, er... I have to go. Gaius doesn’t sleep long, he must be about to leave for the Lower Town already. I’ll try to catch him there. You just try to ask Gwen’s neighbors about her and see if her house is alright, got it?”

“And then we’ll…”

“We shall meet back here after the dinner bell rings, got it?”

“Got it. And fella, be safe, alright? I’m sure there’re a lot of people in the Lower Town who still remember you used to be prince Arthur’s servant.”

Merlin gave a quick nod and tried to put all the gratefulness into his look. When he was about to walk out of the hall, the innkeeper eyed him curiously.

“Where are you going that early?”

“I must secure a job in the Lower Town,” Merlin had repeated that lie so many times he was about to believe he would really spend the next month rebuilding those houses. “I heard there are many who seek that job, I want to be the first to get it.”

“But you haven’t broken your fast!”

“If I don’t get the job I’ll have nothing to pay for breaking my fast, right?” Merlin tried to sound playfully as he walked outside.

The village was slowly rousing as the immature sunbeams were breathing colours into everything, swiping away the half-shades and half-tones of the night. People were driving the cattle out of the yards into the streets, and the shepherds were rushing them by hitting the ground with whips. The errand-boys and errand-girls were heading to the inns and taverns to get the lists and coins from the keepers and head to the Lower Town market to buy what needed to be bought, and the stoves were about to get heated in the bakeries. Merlin couldn’t repress a smile when he imagined the face the old physician would make when he’d recognize him.

***

Merlin couldn’t find Gaius in the Lower Town. The physician didn’t visit his favourite bakery, never dropped by at the Rising Sun Tavern to have a tiny chat with a bartender and neither did he enter the apothecary to ask for the recently gathered herbs. Merlin, who was walking the streets of the Lower Town and treating everybody with the attention that would be envied by the most skillful guards, never caught sight of anybody who’d distantly take after Gaius. The wind was growing strong, and so were the fears in Merlin’s heart. _Did Gaius somehow manage to get himself into trouble? Oh, blimey, Gaius, you, who used to always talk me off for acting without thinking?_

 _Why are there so many guards in the morning?_ Merlin, who had been allowed some admission to the ways things used to be run under Lord Sagramore’s and Sir Leon’s command, knew that the patrols – normally paired lads – were to constantly walk the streets at night, but once the daylight broke, only the “chief” guards remained, and their position was known to the small folk, so that they would have no troubles finding the guard to ask for help.

What Merlin saw made him shiver every time a pair of spearmen passed him – _what was the need to patrol the streets in the morning? Why is the security so tight?_ That was one of the many reasons he chose not to talk to anybody about the physician: chances were high people would call for guards if they recognized him. All what was left to do was to try and eavesdrop in the most crowded places. Merlin wished he never heard what he discovered.

The worst thing was the silly legend about Arthur succumbing to the call of the Evil Labyrinth. It seemed too firmly fixed in the minds of the small folk, from the drunkards in the taverns to the craftsmen in the Southern Village, the market workers in the Lower Town and even the merchants arriving from Mercia. The noblemen and noblewomen, obviously, would not have dared to discuss the matter so openly had the new king himself not voiced all the concerns that were troubling their minds ever since the tomb of Arthur's pretender was broken. _They used to proudly call him the Dragonslayer just some weeks ago, and now suddenly he’s a wraith. How can they all be so damn stupid?_

Not all of them were easily convinced Arthur was a monster, a creature from the dead of the night that would haunt the desolated streets of the Lower Town looking for prey, just like some monster did months ago (they meant Freya, of course, and the fact that people were bringing her name up because of the awful deeds she couldn’t control made Merlin sick). Some people tried to doubt the fact that the prince could be turned into a wraith, for he had fought magic too bravely and too eagerly to become a magic creature, but such arguments did not please the mob, and the protestor would usually get booed for being as silly as the old wet nurse.

However, the fact that the small folk were still talking about Arthur the Wraith meant – at least to Merlin – that they had trouble accepting this silly story, and everybody, maybe secretly, was hoping to listen to some solid arguments that would explain that it could possibly not be. Unfortunately, the castle had suffered too much from the magic attacks, and Goddess only knows what the residents of the Lower Town had not endured: a monster conjured out of earth and water, the statues coming alive and slaying small folk and noble knights, the griffins, witches, a monster with bat-like wings... The wraith, after all, was not that hard to believe in.

But what mayhaps hurt Merlin the most, and even offended the most personal vibes of his soul was that they all called the dead king _“Uther the Great”_. Uther’s legacy would enter the books of history as fair as the summer morning when in fact it ought to be painted as black as the graveyard’s night. The man who ordered and saw to hundreds if not thousands of innocent people executed and slaughtered without trials, who hunted the druids until they hid so deep in the thickets of Andor that even Uther’s dogs could not sniff them out, a man who burned the Isle of the Blessed and damaged the ancient magic... This man was hailed and praised as the Great King who achieved peace for Camelot, created new silver coins and fought the magic enemy as bravely as any knight would dream to.

Merlin could never imagine he’d be able to hate Uther even more after the king’s death. Even his death brought more terror and confusion to Merlin's life. _Uther was murdered by one of his vassals for the reasons we’re still to learn, and as Arthur is striving to regain his throne, he is believed to be a wraith, but Uther is worshipped. That’s disgusting._

The only good thing about the Lower Town was the reconstruction. Merlin was surprised to see the warehouse nearly rebuilt, and the foundations of more than twenty houses laid and ready.

“Hey, you,” Merlin saw a lean tall man pointing at him as he was watching the construction site.

“Me?”

“Yes, you. What’s your business here?”

“I was…er…” Merlin noticed two guards walking their way. “I came to inquire about a job.”

“About what?” the man raised his eyebrows, as though he was suspecting Merlin was telling a smart joke.

“Can I…er… have a place here?”

“You?” the lean man laughed. “Look at you! As feeble as the autumn leaf! What can you possibly be doing here?”

Merlin looked around the site which was dominated by timber yard workers, stone-layers, tough-carriers and all those men who looked too chunky and too muscular to be compared to Merlin. 

“I’m good at figures,” Merlin began to sweat as he noticed the guards slowed down a bit, as though to check their conversation. “Good at counting. And I have a friend whose stronger than me, he can do the hard work.”

“Good at figures, you say? Listen, you. I have a wall three steps long and fifth a step thick, and two steps high. Each brick’s fifth a step long, tenth a step wide and eight palms high. How many bricks do I need for one wall?”

“Twenty-five times thirty bricks, unless you need some space for a window or two.”

“Bloody hell!” the man, who was about to leave, turned around and smiled at Merlin. “That was good! What’s your name?”

“Pliny,” Merlin said, not really sure why the first name that crossed his mind was the name of the old druid they saved in the Northern Ascetir.  

“And your friend’s?

“Bo,” Merlin wanted to laugh from the fantasy of Gwaine suddenly gaining Bo’s hips and breasts.  

“Then why don’t you bring your friend and I’ll see that you get some work here! Everybody must help rebuilding the Lower Town! And Lord Cynric pays handsomely.”

“What’s handsome, according to Lord Cynric?”

“Hundred and seventy-five alders a week, handsome for you?”

“I’ll be back soon enough,” Merlin said, responding to the firm handshake of the construction inspector.

***

Even though he hurried back to the Southern Village, the rain caught him unawares on the way as silver threads of water web appeared everywhere, glistening in the sun that was sneak-peaking from behind the fat grey clouds. The raindrops which at first felt refreshingly cool and pleasant to his face soon gained some weight, and by the time Merlin reached their tavern, the wind was soughing through the dense waterfall, and the roads were turning to mud. Merlin hated it, because he had no other clothes, and the rainfall meant he’d be walking in soaked-through tunic the whole day.

The innkeeper was peering out of the window, watching the streets get deserted as the lisping rain kept slanting the road.

“Rains’ good for berries,” the balding innkeeper told the errand-boy who was chewing the leftovers of morning bread. “Will have good berries this year! You’ll be collecting berries?”

“No. Mum won’t let me to the Darkling Wood for mushrooms and berries ‘cause she says the wraith might be hiding there.”

“The wraith! The wraith my foot! The wraith don’t need no berries nor mushrooms, you can tell your mother so much!”

Merlin noticed Gwaine, sitting beside the empty table with neither ale nor cider nor anything else at his disposal, which Merlin took as a bad omen.  

“Merlin!” Gwaine shouted. “Over here!”

Merlin joined Gwaine and threw a quick glance at the innkeeper, who was busy talking to the errand-boy. There was still some time before the dinner bell, and the visitors were delayed by sudden downpour.  

“You’re fine!” Gwaine whispered.

“I am. You found out anything about Gwen?”

“There was some old toothless woman, her neighbor, says she hasn’t seen Gwen for four days. Says it’s unlike her. I hardly got what she was trying to tell me, she stinks and when she speaks, spit flies from her bubbling lips so far and so strong it seems it’s raining! What about Gaius? Where is the weapon you’ve talked about?”

_Gwen is missing, too. Goddess, is it because of us? Did that meeting with Gwaine and Modron cost her that much? But why? Why in the wide world would Ryence’s men be spying over a maiden? Did they really believe I could be delivering some message to her? How could they learn it?_

It was beginning to dawn upon him how dangerous the castle and court of Camelot had become after the coup. Conspiracy could be bred at every corner, with guards inspecting the streets day and night and small folk believing the wraith was hunting the Darkling Wood. _Ryence might be the king, but he knows Arthur’s survived and he is afraid. And he tries to corrupt people’s hearts with fear, too, for they would turn to him for protection. Why is murdering this man not an option? So far, he seems just like Uther._

Gwaine was leaning over the table, anticipating the answer and giving Merlin the most trustworthy look.

“Gaius has not been to the Lower Town,” Merlin tried to expel the shuddering fear that was trying to slip through his words. “Which is unlike him, too.”

“Did you ask somebody about him, fella?”

“Blimey, Gwaine, he is a bloody court physician and I look like the dumbest peasant in the kingdom. Why would I be asking about the court’s physician? And too many people in Gwen’s area remember me.”

“You could’ve said you’re sick.”

“Even if I’m sick, I am supposed to be asking the apothecary’s physicians for help unless… or! Wait! Yes! Gwaine’s you’re great!”

“I know I am,” Gwaine shook his head, making his hair fall graciously over his shoulders. “But if you explained, I’d be more confident, you little sneaky …”

Before Gwaine could finish, Merlin rose to his feet and approached the innkeeper, who was beginning to accept the first visitors for dinner and shouting orders at the kitchen maidens.

“So?” he inquired out of mere courtesy mimics. “Were you lucky?”

“I was! I got a job for the two of us!” Merlin tried to sound naturally boastful.  

“Indeed? I thought you’re too feeble to be working at the reconstruction…”

“I’m good at figures, and Gwaine has the strength. It’s all good. That’s why we’ll have a good meal.”

“Whatever my guests desire. What would it be?”

“Serve some geese, if you please.”

“Geese for two. Anything else?”

“Bread, onion, mead and cottage cheese. We have something to celebrate. Listen, er… can I have your name?”

“It’s Samuel.”

“Samuel. Listen, Samuel, can you give me a bit of advice?”

“What advice?” the innkeeper suddenly straightened himself, as though Merlin’s decision to ask for his advice made him feel proud. 

“My sister’s sick with plague. Mum told me to ask and write back if she could bring her here for a physician to see her.”

“Plague? That’s bad,” the innkeeper shook his head. “Not sure she’d be let in the town. One doesn’t want the decease to spread, see.”

“Maybe the physician can see her somewhere close to town?”

“See, plague’s not just a sickness. It’s a tough one. We only had Gaius who could think of the remedy and…”

“You had? Why had? Where is this... Gaius now?”

“Don’t know nothing about him,” Samuel said absently. “Tom’s been telling weird stories, but I say it’s not our business… Thing is, he doesn’t work anymore.”

“There’s nowhere I can find him?”

“You could try and go to the castle, but those who went couldn’t explain what they were told. Of one thing we’re all sure: Gaius is no longer a court physician. Hasn’t been for five days.”

“A pity.”

“Mother needs to give her wild berries mixed with honeysuckle and… I heard the bee stings do good, too!”

Merlin returned to the table, where Gwaine was wearing a gloomy expression: he had been eavesdropping and realized Gaius’s retirement from the position of the court physician had peculiarly coincided with the day Gwaine and Modron were seen in the Tavern of the Rising Sun. There appeared wrinkles on his forehead and it looked as though he was trying to desperately remember something.

“Gaius has been out of his job for five days, according to Samuel. Tom’s been telling weird stories about that. I can’t go and talk to Tom – he bloody knows I am, well, was the prince’s servant. And neither can you, for you nearly destroyed his tavern the last time you paid a visit.”

“You think Gaius can be dead?” Gwaine chose to voice the darkest suspicion rather than try and silence it.

“Hardly ever,” Merlin’s sympathy and attachment to Gaius had nothing to do with his positive outlook. “He is too useful to be murdered. A court physician, knows a great deal about healing.”

“Blimey!” Gwaine slapped himself on the forehead, scaring the maiden girl who spilled half of the mead on Gwain’s trousers. “Merlin, I remembered! Gwen said he was put in detention when we had a chat in the Rising Sun!”

_Detention? Imprisonment? For Gaius? What for?_

“Why didn’t you mention it in Ealdor?!” Merlin hissed.  

“I just… forgot… I forgot, it happens! I never met this Gaius of yours in the first place, I didn’t care much about him!”

“I told you about him in Gedney, remember? I said he…”

“Now I do. So? He’s in detention? In cells?”

“He may be,” Merlin nodded. The fact that Gwaine recalled Gwen’s words did nothing to alter Merlin’s strategy. “I must go and rescue him.”

_Because Gaius would go and rescue me, and because I need his knowledge more than anything if I hope to see Arthur again. There is nobody else in the bloody castle who knows about magic as much as Gaius does._

“Are you going to say you’ll sneak into the castle? Merlin, it’s…”

“I’ve never been caught when I was sneaking around the castle, and I have done it many times. I know its corridors and staircases, I know it all, I’ll manage…”

“Merlin, the risks…”

“And besides, I was going to get into my room anyway, I’m sure nobody’s put guards in my room, they thought I was a miserable toad and…”

“Merlin, bloody hell! I get it that you’ve lived in the castle and you remember it better than your mother’s milk, but how are you going to _enter_ the castle? Have you seen the number of guards? They’ve tripled them, I think, I’m sure it’s been done on purpose, to not let anybody stir unrest while the new king’s away.”

“Then I will enter the castle through the only unguarded place.”

“Which is?”

“The Western Tower.”

Gwaine looked as though the ground was slipping from beneath his feet. Had he been drinking, he would’ve choked on his mead, Merlin was sure.  

“The one that looks like it’s about to fall?”

“Right.”

“Merlin! That’s impossible!”

“I’ll use my gifts.”

“Listen here, little rabbit,” Gwaine pointed his index finger at Merlin. “Before we left Ealdor, the prince had a chat with me. He told me to keep my eye on you and he told me I was responsible for your safety. He told me to never let any harm come to you and…”

“He really said it?” Merlin felt like all the warmth and tenderness of summer suddenly began to blossom inside his chest.

“Oh, you lovesick blithering idiot! Of course, he did! I told you he’s lost his mind because of you, and that’s why I think climbing the Western Tower, courageous as it may be…”

“Gwaine, what I’m planning is not dangerous. I’m not going to _climb_ that tower. I will use magic. And I will need ropes. Many ropes.” 


	16. Merlin 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin finds Gaius where he didn't expect to find the physician at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

**Chapter 14: Intrusion**

They spent the whole day stealing ropes all over the Southern Village and the Lower Town. It was not that hard for a man of such talents as Merlin. The warlock chose to rely on the same scheme he had once used when Arthur ordered him to organize his escape from the chambers so that the prince could keep the word he gave to Morgause. Merlin remembered, however, that the rope he had brought to Arthur turned out to be too short, and the prince experienced a spectacular fall (and rewarded Merlin with a good kick on the ass for that), and that’s why Merlin thought they needed at least ten rope this time.

They noticed one at the furniture workshop, a thick brown rope laying above some timber on the backyard, rather unnoticed. Merlin rose his hands, and as his eyes flashed golden, the rope slithered Gwaine’s way, like a giant obedient snake, and slipped under his tunic, entwining Gwaine’s belly which, when the whole rope got under his tunic, looked dully fat. If inspected closely by guards, Gwaine’s disproportional queerness would draw unnecessary attention, but nobody seemed to care about Gwaine in the continuing downpour of chilly rain. They kept stealing the ropes and dumping them into a dead end near the Western Bridge. 

“I still can’t believe you’re doing this,” Gwaine muttered, when they dumped the tenth rope onto the ground. “I knew you were a puzzle, but now… Damn it, damn it, you’re insane!”

“This whole thing is insane! I need to find Gaius. Otherwise this pretty stone on my chest will slowly kill me.”

“What will you do now?”

“I’ll have to wait until dusk, and then I’ll do my thing. The Western Tower’s not guarded at all. I’ll come close to the wall and command the ropes to…”  

“You’re really a good sorcerer, aren’t you?” Gwaine smiled.  

“Thought I could be joking for that long?”

“Why do you make ropes act like snakes? Why do they slither?”

“Because I know how to turn a rope into a snake, because the first year, I learnt how to turn a statue of a dog into a real one. But I’ve altered the spell a little. They are ropes, but I can command them as though they were snakes. I will tie the ten ropes together and make ‘em climb the wall and wrap around the heavy bed of Lady Dindrane, which is the Western Tower, and then I’ll climb the Tower.”

“Bloody hell! That sounds terrifying!”

 _Leaving Arthur sounds even more terrifying to me._ The rain was slowing down, and the ash-grey sky that kept scowling, and the dusk could be anticipated earlier than usually.

“Listen, Gwaine. If I am not back to the inn before the morning bell tomorrow, you go to Gedref. Don’t waste your time here trying to rescue me.”

“I’ll do the way I want to. You’re not giving commands to me, remember? I’m a free man,” Gwaine petted him on the shoulder and, all of a sudden, pulled him into a strong embrace which nearly knocked Merlin off his feet.  

“Take care of yourself,” Merlin whispered.  

“Says a man who’s about to climb the Western Tower! Blimey, Merlin, who could’ve thought you were such a…” 

***

While Merlin was waiting for the darkness to spread its wings over the Lower Town, he promised himself to learn the spell that would give him powers to make his clothes dry after the rain. There seemed to be no threat emanated from the guards. _Perhaps Gwain’s right. Perhaps they have been drawn to Camelot in such numbers just to make sure the castle is secure while Ryence imitates war in Brechfa. Storming the castle was one of the options for Arthur, after all, but seeing the number of guards in the Lower Town, it would be doomed. Especially considering the fact both, Ryence and Yrien have been admitted to all the plans of the secret tunnels and passages of the castle._

Merlin chose to move when the air grey thinly grey, but not too dim for the torches and candle lights to be lit. With daylight lost to the first echoes of the night, the Lower Town turned into a labyrinth of pale colors, with oddly blueish half-tones, and people began to take after their shadows. As Merlin kept walking towards the Western Bridge, he knew that for the guards, he was just one of the shadows. The bridge was full with reconstruction workers returning from the site, and nobody seemed to have noticed when one thin lad darted off the bridge and started crawling along the castle wall.

When the darkness grew so dense the candle lights began to tremble in most of the windows on the other side of the moat, Merlin whispered the spell and heard the splash of water: the ropes responded to his command and slithered to him from the other bank, swimming through the moat waters before climbing the bank. Another flash of golden, and the ten ropes became one. After that, Merlin gave the command, and the rope started gliding up the walls of the Western Tower, as though there could be no gravity for it. 

When the rope stopped jerking, Merlin tried to pull it down, but it refused to move, which he took for the fact that it did as he commanded, wrapping its end in a deadly grip across Lady Dindrane’s old bed. Now, it was the time to move up.

The climb was even more dangerous than Gwaine had feared, for the rope was wet and Merlin had to use twice as much power as he intended to keep his grip tight. He remembered a lesson for the young knights he had once seen, where Arthur instructed them on how to use both, their arms' and their legs' muscles in order to rope-climb the walls, so that they wouldn’t overload one group of muscles with the hard work.

Merlin had never been too fond of the hard physical work, but this time, he tried to imagine that Arthur was looking at him, and Merlin tried to put a performance that would not disappoint his king. His arms and legs worked in the same rhythm, and he had tied the end of the rope around himself so that if he lost his grip, he’d not fall and al least not reach the ground. Merlin had no idea of how long it took him to climb the Tower, for his muscle pain seemed the only indication of time – and after a couple of minutes, the pain became intense and deep, and didn’t change until he reached the top and climbed into Lady Dindrane’s old bedroom through the window destroyed by the dragon fire during the attack. He fell on the floor at once, his shoulders, arms and thighs shaking hysterically after the shocking experience. As he kept shuddering on the floor, he heard the familiar voice over his head, poisonous with the threatening tone:     

“Stay where you are. I am armed.”

Merlin rose to his feet and stared into the shadow-swallowed darkness of the room that looked more like a dungeon, focusing his sight on precisely the silhouette he expected to see. No matter how hard the old physician tried to make himself sound menacingly, Merlin could have never mistaken his mentor’s voice for anything else.

“Armed? With what, potions? Oh, Gaius, please. The bloody hell you doing here at such an hour?”

“Show yourself or!..” Gaius’s voice broke off, for he struggled to accept that the enigmatic figure which had just climbed into the broken window was somebody so close to him.

“Have you forgotten my voice already?” Merlin was sure his happy and content grin could be sin even in the room depraved of a single fire light. “I bet you’ve had a rest without anybody ruining your supper with silly gossips, right?”

“Merlin?!” Gaius was finally brave enough to pronounce this name, but he sounded as though he suspected he was going insane.  

“Who else did you expect would conjure a giant rope-snake to climb the Western Tower?”

“Merlin, my boy! Oh, Merlin!”

Gaius rushed to him, covering the distance of a whole room in mere moments, and before Merlin could even raise his own arms for an embrace, Gaius knocked him off in the clumsiest, happies and warmest welcome the old man had ever given him.

“Gaius, don’t strangle me before the new king does, please,” Merlin tried to keep smiling, but there was some awkward feeling the seized his throat and his eyes were getting watery.   

“Merlin, my boy, my cleverest boy, you’ve come, you’re safe, you… Wait, where’s Arthur?”

Gaius embrace ended abruptly, and the physician looked at the window, as though he anticipated Arthur to climb the Western Tower, too.

“He’s alive! He’s not in Camelot.”

“Oh, Merlin! How clever! There are four times as many guards within the citadel as there used to be during Uther’s days… Merlin! Merlin! Thank Goddesss…” Gaius probably still couldn’t get rid of a deceitful feeling that he had gone mad and there was no Merlin, and that’s why he kept petting Merlin on the shoulder. “Merlin, you mustn’t do this to the old man’s heart! Oh, wait, we mustn’t talk loudly, the guard’s downstairs, by the door...”

“The guard? Gaius? Wait, do you… Gaius, do they keep you _here_?!”

“Sh! It’s the courtesy of Lady Yrien!” Gaius whispered, as he began walking towards the staircase, inviting Merlin to follow him.

“The lady who loves oriental hair oils?”

“Precisely. We must walk upstairs, although it’s too windy there, well, hardly a surprise since half the wall’s been torn down…”

“I know, but I’m fine with it.”

“You know? How?”

“I’ve been to the Western Tower before.”

“What were you doing here?”

For the second time that evening, Merlin was glad the darkness was dense enough, for otherwise Gaius would have noticed the red on his cheeks. _It was the first place where we made love with Arthur, and an odd one._ Merlin mouth got twisted into a slightly shameful smile when he remembered the way Arthur complained he couldn’t last long enough with Merlin’s arse being too tight.  

“Arthur asked… Asked to… You know, carry some of Lady Dindrane’s old stuff to the new chambers.”

When they appeared in the room where half the wall was missing, which was the cause of both, the fierce gusts of wind and a picturesque view over Lower Town, Merlin’s heart nearly sprang out of his chest, for he returned to the spot where Arthur once used to hold him in his arms tight and where he had whispered words sweeter than love song into his ear. _He called me little star here. I can’t let it all end because of the sunstone and moonstone magic. I must find a way._

“Merlin, I can’t believe you’re here!” Gaius raised his voice a little, and as Merlin turned around, he didn’t like the sight of the physician.

It was not exactly the Gaius he remembered. The skin on his face, never too wrinkled, seemed to be stretching over his skull, for much of the flesh had disappeared somewhere, and his arms seemed thin as sticks. His brown robes, as dusty as though worn through a tiring forest journey, seemed too loose for the old man. _What have they done to you, Gaius?_

“I’ve nearly lost all my hope! A shameful thing to say, but I’ve always valued honesty above all the other virtues… Merlin, my boy, how terrible a pain was it to receive the troubling news and not a single message, not a single line from you… I’ve almost grew tired of wrestling my fears, I must admit, the game’s been played out more violently than I could ever fear….”

Merlin’s eyes got even too watery. He had been much too preoccupied with Arthur and the prince's health to let himself worry about Gaius and Gwen who were left in the castle, but now that he was standing to Gaius face to face, open to the relieved, but still a bit sorrowful tone of the physician, Merlin was beginning to understand how the Brechfa tragedy must have looked to his long-time mentor.

“I couldn’t write from the woods, Gaius, I’m so sorry I haven’t let you know. I’ve sent a message through Owaine and Modron, they were supposed to deliver it to Gwen, and I thought she’d tell you, but…”

“Modron! Owaine! Are they alive, too?!” Gaius exclaimed.

“They are the only ones alive from Arthur’s knights group.”

“And you’re telling me they’ve visited Camelot?”

“Incognito.”

“Your message must have reached her when I had already been offered special accommodation by our new Councilor of Camelot.”

“So it seems. Strangely, Gwen's been missing for nearly as long as you have. I fear her meeting with Owaine and Modron hasn’t gone unnoticed,” Merlin said, feeling guilty. If Gwen’s in trouble because of me…  

“Merlin, my boy, what are you planning to achieve with all this? Where have you been? What happened to Artur?”

“Gaius, before we talk about that… The sunstone you’ve given me...”

Gaius’s mood seemed to get blacked by second; the single mention of stone’s name was enough to unleash the deepest horror into the room.  

“Merlin, please prove my fears wrong and tell me you haven’t used it...”

“I have. Gaius, there was no other way! Arthur was wounded in the forest, the attackers, they somehow knew where we’d be!.. They appeared as though out of nowhere and I… I just did what I needed to do… Gaius, I couldn't lose him!”

“Oh, Merlin... That was a brave decision, the courage even some knights would lack,” Gaius said, but he sounded as though he would never be happy again. _He knows I am lingering in the shadow of death now. Time to step into the light._

“Do you know anything about how I can reverse its magic without undoing all the healing effect it had given to Arthur?”

“I don’t, Merlin,” Gaius’s words, as faint as the leaves’ rustle, kept booming like thunder in Merlin’s ears.

_He doesn’t. I am nearly dead then._

 “It grieves me to say it, but I am as powerless about the sunstone and moonstone magic as anybody in the castle, my boy.”

“But what are they? What are these stones?!” Merin asked in a tear-stained voice.

“It is the mystery, and a magic one. All we have is the note that was attached to those stones. I’ve tried to study them on my own, but I’ve never come across anything like them in the books. The Eye of the Phoenix looks rather similar and is believed to have many similar features…”

“Like what?”’

“Eye of the Phoenix is a cursed stone. It draws the power of life out of anybody who wears it.”

“So does the sunstone!”

“No. The sunstone wouldn’t work unless someone else wore a moonstone. These two stones and their powers are intertwined in a fashion which I’ve failed to grasp. Their magic is powerful, and this magic does not only carry the stones’ original forces. There is a spell that unites them, a spell that could be created only by a skillful sorcerer, or sorceress, like I believe.”

“Sorceress? Nimueh?”

“No. It was Queen Andor herself.”

“Queen what?”

“She was the Queen of Camelot before Uther’s conquest. The last druid Queen. Queen of the Druids and Mother of the Dragon Blood."

“You knew her?”

“Of course. I am fifteen years older than her!”

“Blimey, Gaius, you’re ancient. How old are you actually?”

“Merlin!”

“Well, I mean, if only we knew the spell she had used to arrange the original powers of the stones in such a peculiar fashion, maybe we’d be able to alter something…”

Gaius’s expression suggested the physician had already considered such an option and didn’t regard it as something worth trying.

“I've told you all I know. The mysteries of the ancient druid dynasty were revealed only to a handful of initiates, and as a promising apothecary, I was privy only to rumors...”

“But Gaius, there must be someone who can help!”

Merlin was ready to burst into tears. _I can’t be dead, I can’t leave Arthur when we’ve only have everything started, I want to be with him for the rest of my days…_

“I can only think of three creatures who truly know the Old Ways. One is Morgause. The other is the Dochraid, but she cannot be trusted. The third source of knowledge is right at your hand and abides by your will.”

“Who’s that?!”

“The Last Great Dragon, of course,” the simplicity and clarity of Gaius’s idea shocked Merlin. _How was I so stupid? Why haven’t I thought of it myself?_ “He is the only one alive who is old enough to give us the answers we need, if there are answers.”

Merlin’s body and mind aligned in a firm decision to reject the threat of looming death; his heartbeat relaxed and his breath cooled down, too, and he started walking across the room.

“Blimey! Oh, Gaius! Right, of course, you’re right! But… I thought our parting with Kilgharrah was a bit strained… I threatened to kill him if he ever attacked Camelot again… Although he said something about my clemency and how he’ll never forget it... And he said our paths would cross again...”

“The time is ripe for your paths to cross. You must do everything in your powers, Merlin. I wouldn’t bear losing you right after discovering you were alive! What would I write to your mother?”

“She knows everything. She knows what I’m doing.”

“You’ve been to Ealdor?!”

“I have.”

“Merlin, it’s about time you told me what happened to you and Arthur!”

And tell he did. 


	17. Merlin 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gaius shares the fruits of his guesswork about Ryence's coup.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

**Chapter 15: Gold, magic and court**

The story was not a brief one, and by the time Merlin finished telling Gaius how he had parted with Arthur in Ealdor, he was beginning to fear the sun would be sending fingers of light through the grey outskirts of Lower Town. It was the other way around: the torches had been put out and the deafly dark night had Camelot in her arms, with neither stars nor moonlight raining from the sky. Gaius never decided to break into Merlin’s story, although when Merlin mentioned the Cailleach and her threatening message, the physician winced, as if from pain.   

“You think I’ve done something wrong?” Merlin asked nervously, choosing not to tell him about Morgana. _Not yet. We have a lot of things to discuss before I bring her up._

“On the contrary, I could not be prouder of you. Merlin, Ryence fears Arthur will go to the West, to Uther’s aunt who is the Lady of Daobeth. Considering the western territories have a massive army of two thousand swords ready to march any day, he is right to fear, and sending Arthur to Nemeton through Essetir’s land is something Ryence couldn’t have foreseen.”

“Why do they have such a giant army in the West?”

“Uther ordered to assemble the forces not long after he received news about the invasion. It's horrible the invasion was faked.”

“You’re not shocked by it?”

Gaius’s face seemed pale with anger, shining brighter than an oil lamp in the void of the night.

“Shocked to hear about the faked invasion? I’m more shocked at the depth to which Ryence sank in order to win the throne. Staging an invasion, Ryence… To think that singers and poets praise him as one of the greatest warriors to ever live… If only they knew of his cowardice, their tongues would turn to filth whenever they start singing about Everwick Winds.”

“What’s Everwick Winds?”

“A song about one of the Gwynedd wars. Merlin, taking Arthur to Nemeton is wise, but Gedref…”

“We need a stronghold. If Gedref, Nemeton and Nemeth answer to Arthur’s call, King Ryence will have to deal with the Seaside Kingdom shaping back to its older borders. If the West changes its allegiance once Vyda Gaheris learns that her nephew’s son is rallying up the banners, we may win the war without swordfight. Tell me, Gaius, you think it was wise to let Arthur travel alone?”

“Arthur has performed harder tasks than traveling through three castles, right?”

“Three castles?” Merlin mumbled.  

“Well, Nemeton, Nemeth and Gedref. He is promised an easy journey while you must find a way to do something about sunstone. It’s your fate that worries me, not Arthur’s journey. He is, strictly speaking, on a diplomatic mission, accompanied by the heirs of Nemeton and Gedref.”

_If it’s so easy, then why does my heart nearly stop every evening when I understand he is somewhere out there? Why do I find it hard to breathe when I realize I have no way to protect him… To think that it has just been three days and to think that I must go through another eleven days without him… Oh, Goddess…_

“If I do something about the sunstone, I will go to Gedref, you understand?”

Gaius raging expression transformed into a weak twitching smile.  

“You’re asking whether I expected you to stay in Camelot while Arthur called banners? I’m not mad yet, despite the lack of company. But you’ll do good to listen to my advice.”

“Advice on what? Gaius, I hope there will be no war, I hate wars. Arthur must win the throne back without a single battle...”

Merlin could hear his own voice being too nervous and shaking; the thought that Arthur would take his sword and his shield to the battle field terrified him as much as it did the day they had returned from Ascetir. _It only takes one arrow, one bloody arrow… I’ve learned that in the patrol._

“The more you’ll know about the reasons leading to this coup, the better, Merlin. This knowledge may prove precious to Arthur.”

“And you know why the coup happened?” Merlin asked hopefully, not really surprised at the fact that Gaius could provide the deepest insight not only into the old religion, but also into the court strivings.

“I’m slowly beginning to understand why Uther was overthrown, and half my guesses be true, the realm is in dire peril, for the forces governing the figures that lead this war are so grand it seems the havoc can’t be stopped.”

“Forces? You mean magic?” Merlin whispered, his voice filled with wariness, for the fear about Morgana and Morgause having anything to do with the events was still lingering in his heart.  

“No, I doubt it’s of magical nature. Merlin, you know anything about oaks?”

“Trees? Or coins?”

“Coins.”

“They are gold coins. One can exchange them for silver alders. But not for copper yews.”

“Indeed. Do you know what the gold coins are used for?”

“Er… not really… in fact, I always wondered, why everything’s priced in alders and yews… But it didn’t seem to matter, because you can pay for everything with alders and yews…”

“Camelot only uses gold to collect taxes from the lords and ladies of the territories, and gold is also used in foreign trade, for gold oaks is the only Camelot currency recognized by foreign merchants.”

“So the small folk pays taxes in alders, but lords and ladies send taxes to Camelot in gold oaks? But how do the lords and ladies turn silver alders’ taxes from the commoners into gold oaks? With alchemy?”

“They go to Treasury Courts and change silver for gold. Or gold for silver. The Treasury Courts work both ways. Now listen, Merlin, this is very important. There are four Treasury Courts in Camelot. One in Asgorath, one in Gedref, one in Camelot and one in Brechfa. And Asgorath is the only lands that spends far more gold than it gets, you understand?”

“They buy more foreign goods than they sell to the foreign lands?”

“Exactly. And Asgorath is more populous than Camelot. Now what’s important, the more gold they need, the higher is the price of gold oaks at the Asgorath Treasury Court, for Treasury Court is a place where anyone can sell gold at any prince considered appropriate by the seller.”

“I don’t understand much so far...”

Gaius sighed heavily, for matters of state seemed more complicated than the mysteries of the old religion.

“Asgorath is heavily indebted. To send taxes to Camelot in gold and to pay for the imported goods with gold, Asgorath needs far more gold than it gets from exports. You understand that?”

“Well, that’s simple when you put it that way. But then agaim, how do they make up for the deficit of gold?”

“They buy the gold they lack at the Treasury Court of Asgotath. Now listen, Merlin, it’s very important, maybe more important than anything you may hope to discover about Ryence Gignawaine,” Gaius made a break, and when he resumed talking, he lowered the pace as though to make sure every single word reached Merlin. “When Uther was king, he used to collect taxes in gold. After that, he used to borrow additional gold from the Brechfa castle through the Brechfa Treasury Court. Uther’s borrowings were guaranteed by the tax gold he had just collected from all the territories. Brechfa castle knew Uther would pay back because he had loads of gold in the dungeons store.”

“Then why would he borrow additional gold?”

 “Uther would take the gold he borrowed from Brechfa Treasury Court and sell it at Asgorath Treasury Court to the Lord of Asgorath for a much higher rate than he had borrowed this gold for. That’s how he’d get tons of silver oaks he’d then distribute among some territories.”

“Gaius, can you give an example that would involve figures? I think I got it, but...”

“Imagine the following. Uther borrows hundred oaks from Brechfa and promises to give back hundred and ten oaks. He then exchanges gold oaks into silver alders for Lord Catigern at Asgorath Treasury court. Lord Catigern pays Uther one hundred and eighty silver oaks for one hundred gold oaks. Uther then takes one hundred and eighty silver alders and exchanges them for one hundred sixty gold oaks at Camelot or Gedref Treasury Court."

“He borrowed hundred and ten oaks from Brechfa Treasury Court, then sold it to Lord Catigern at Asgorath Treasury Court and then bought hundred and sixty oaks at Brechfa Treasury Court... He borrowed hundred and ten and earned hundred and sixty! He gained fifty oaks for himself after paying the debt to Brechfa Treasury court! That’s not very fair, right?”

Merlin was puzzled by the suddenly revealed schemes of Uther's wealth. Merlin couldn't understand the reason behind Uther's actions, for it always seemed to him that Uther didn't need money at all. Merlin believed the king was allowed to get anything for free, and his gold would be worthless in the kingdom. _Well, he could be saving some coins for foreign goods, I guess, and they say he loved wine... But he wouldn't be spending hundreds of oaks on wine, would he?_

“Fair or not, Asgorath gold deficit kept growing as the years passed, and soon the castle of Camelot owed quite a sum to the Treasury Court of Brechfa," Gaius continued to share the fruits of his guesswork. "It was nothing serious – Uther could’ve paid it back any moment, but his borrowings were to be paid back gradually over ten years, so…”

“When did this scheme commence?”

“Nine years ago, after the last Gwynedd war.”  

“So you think Ryence overthrew Uther so that…”   

“He can be more sure that the debt to Brechfa is paid.”

“How much is this debt?”

“I can't know for sure, Merlin, but we're dealing with millions of oaks.”

_Millions of oaks. And they couldn't find money to start the reconstruction of the Lower Town... This is madness!_

“Bloody hell! But Gaius, such money…”

“Is not as much as it seems. If you were to handle it to every resident of Brechfa, each will receive a little more than fifty alders, I think. Still, it’s one of the biggest public debts of the Camelot crown...” 

“You really think Ryence could overthrow Uther because he feared the crown would not stay dutiful and faithful to its financial obligations to the Brechfa Treasury Court?”

“It may appear so. This is naught but guesswork, my boy, but now that Ryence has renounced Lady Gedref’s lordship over the castle…”

“Is Gedref also in debt?”

“Oh, it’s not. On the contrary, Gedref is moderately rich and Gedref Treasury Court has enough gold because of the rich trade of Nemeton and Nemeth. It may just be that Ryence wants another Treasury Court to start financing Asgorath’s gold deficit.”

“I pray I keep it in my head to tell Arthur about it. Gaius, you think we can hope to win the court?”

“You shall not expect Vyda Gaheris to instantly side with you once she gets the news that Prince Arthur, her nephew’s son, is rebelling against King Ryence. Uther’s aunt she may be, but family relation is not enough. However, if you promise to somehow see to the gold deficit of Asgorath, it would be a _heavier_ reason for her. Anna Dindrane, however…”

“What? What of her?”

“She may eventually support Arthur, but not now. When the news of Arthur’s rebellion reach Camelot, I hardly expect the members of the court to show any outward sign of affection for Arthur. Don’t forget that Ryence will viciously deny that whoever is calling the banners is Arthur. They’ll either call him a pretender or a wraith.”

“They could bloody go to Gedref and see he’s no wraith!” Merlin was doing his best not to shout, but the whole wraith story seemed insanely unjust and stupid to him. He was angry people were stupid enough to believe it, but, on the other hand, Camelot had suffered a number of magic attacks and people had seen something worse than a wraith. “They can use their own eyes to find the truth!”

“The first one to suggest such a thing during the council meeting is likely to lose his or her head. If Lady Yrien had power, she’d be beheading people left and right for much less troublesome remarks,” it seemed to Merlin that tragedy and merriness were mixed in Gaius’s voice.  

“Why wouldn’t she start from beheading herself if she is so eager to serve justice?”

“Oh, Merlin,” Gaius sighed rather hopelessly. “She is not as gravely wicked as she may seem. She is afraid, and that alone, coupled with her sense of authority, made her lose her mind a bit.”

“What was the point of starting the whole damn thing then?! If she is so afraid of being exposed, why did she risk overthrowing Uther in the first place?”

“She hardly contributed to the plan. I am more than sure it was Ryence’s idea. The Treasury Court of Brechfa has been lending money to Uther, because one can’t just deny the king’s request... I am sure Yrien didn’t have a final say. Women rarely have a say in the matters of state, although if they had, our life would be a lot more peaceful. Yrien fears for her son. She had already lost one because of Uther and she doesn’t know...”

“Lost a son because of Uther? How?”

“Uther didn’t recognize her marriage to a Gwynedd knight, a captive. When he was captured after battle, he was brought to Brechfa wih hundreds of others captives, and Ryence was expecting ransoms... But Yrien fell in love with one such captured Gweynedd knight. They had a son, but Uther didn’t recognize the child."

"What happened to this knight?"

"He died because of Uther in a battle, trying to prove his new loyalty to Camelot. He left Yrien penniless."

"And their son?"

"Yrien was ordered to send him to Uther's aunt to foster as a bastard, but the boy ran away.”

“Did he ever come back?”

“Not that we know. Merlin, an eight year old boy doesn’t stand many chances of survival in the world. She kept mourning him for years. And now Rion’s life is also endangered, and Yrien sees Arthur’s shadow at every corner. So, Merlin, once Arthur declares an open rebellion, the court members will wait and see. You may hope that if many answer to Arthur’s call, Lady Dindrane might change her allegiance.”

“Why?”

“She is among the descendants of the last Druid dynasty.”

“Why was she in Uther’s court then?”

“She was never dangerous, except for one time, maybe. Anna married Uther’s warlord, and so did her sister. Many of those who belonged with the dynasty were killed during the Purge...”

“Gaius, you’re ancient!”

“Merlin, it’s not the most...”

“No, I mean, you're old enought to... Maybe _you_ can help me?! I saw visions!”

“Visions? What can you possibly mean?”

“Apparently some forest spirits called me, one night, they wanted to show me something, they were in the streams... I saw two princes in the castle by the sea, they didn’t get along well but they sort of reached an understanding...”

“Merlin, I am afraid I...”

“You ever knew two princes who would quarrel? One’s fair, one’s dark-haired.”

“Princes... I only knew two princes during my life in Camelot. Prince Darian was Queen Andor’s son. Many anticipated him to be the king, but he died in the Battle of Ashes with the other two Dragonlords.”

“Who was the second prince?”

“Why, but Prince Arthur.”

“Of course. And this... Prince Darian... What color was his hair?”

“A dark-haired man he was. I also heard of another prince, prince Ollwen, Owaine’s father.”

“Owaine’s father was a prince?!”

“Of course. He was the son of Reginald, King of Seaside Kingdom. Ollwen was destined to succeed King Reginald, but Agravaine and Tristan, Arthur's uncles, killed Reginald to make Ygraine a queen and marry her to Uther. They spared Ollwen's life, for he was just a child.”

“Was Ollwen fair haired?”

“Yes. Just like Owaine.”

“Could Prince Darian and Prince Ollwen spend some time together?”

“Merlin, my boy, Ollwen was just six years old when prince Darian was slaughtered at the Battle of Ashes. Anyway, you think those visions were important?”

“Why would I see them?”

“This is something beyond my knowledge, much like so many questions that concern you. Merlin, your connection to the deepest secrets of magic is something that never ceases to awe me.”

“If only I were able to understand those secrets... Alright, Gaius, come. We need to go before the dawn breaks.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here we go, 50k words! *PARTY*  
> So, since this fic is already half as long as "The Great Design", let me share some general chapter outline with you to make some things more clear.  
> 1) We have three upcoming Merlin POV chapters, all set in Camelot. Merlin, as you've understood, has one last hope to solve the sunstone riddle - The Great Dragon. I can't wait to describe what the Dragon's visit to Camelot might do to the poor small folk's hearts :D (Kilgharrah is peaceful, don't worry. He has been to a dragon's anger control rehab, kind of ).  
> 2) We have six upcoming Gwen POV chapters, all set in Camelot, because Rion managed to get her out of the prison cells. And Gwen gets some romance coming to her plot line <3  
> 3) We have another four Merlin POV chapters set outside the castle of Camelot, and Merlin will enjoy the company of a different friend. Who could that be? *mystery*  
> 4) We have six upcoming Morgana POV chapters, Morgana's romance line and more delving into the Old Religion stuff. 
> 
> So, altogether, there will be:  
> \- 11 Morgana chapters,  
> \- 16 Merlin chapters,  
> \- 7 Gwen chapters. 
> 
> in the first "volume" of "The Guiding Star". The first volume was planned and will be centered around the old ways themes, sunstone, moonstone, Morgana meeting the druids and learning about the Isle of the Blessed vs Druids feud, etc. 
> 
> After that, we shall switch to the second "volume" of "The Guiding Star", with chapters mainly from Arthur POV and Gwen POV. It will be dedicated to Arthur's adventures with his soon-to-be-knights and Gwen's part in the castle intrigues. 
> 
> In the third volume we'll see Merlin and Morgana lines resume. In the fourth volume, we shall sync all the plot lines and see what comes of all the actions of our characters!
> 
> Next updates on Feb, 13 :)


	18. Merlin 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin tries to get out of the castle, but, as quite expected, the warlock doesn't follow his plan smoothly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

**Chapter 16: Grave concerns**

It was time to move, Merlin was sure. The night was marching into the darkest hour, and the darkest hour was the one before the dawn, that was what they used to say. _I can't make Gaius use the rope to descend the Western Tower's wall. We'll have to exit the same way we've smuggled the druid boy out of the Citadel, and there will be guards on our way._

"Merlin?"

Gaius's tone suggested the old physician had forgotten to say something, and he called Merlin's name in a manner as grim as the desolated rooms of Western Tower. Merlin's hand twitched and the tiny fire heart started pulsing above his palm, casting light on the dusty floor and the decaying walls of the empty room which looked like a dungeon without bars and barely reminded of the luxurious bedchamber. Gaius wore an expression that was not easy to read; it seemed a remorseful sigh was frozen on his face.

“Merlin, my boy, I fear I can’t go with you.”

“Gaius, you’ve lost your wits?!”

“Merlin, I...”

The fire in Merlin's hand started flickering, and it seemed the hope of having Gaius, wise and experienced, to provide his guidance, was flickering away, too. _Bloody hell. No. Gaius, you silly old toad, you must go with me!_

“Gaius, under no circumstances will I ever allow you to keep rotting in the Western Tower!”

Merlin's anger seemed to influence his magic, too, for the fire ball in his right hand suddenly grew bigger and jumped off his hand, smashing the floor; it would've set the room on fire had there been anything left in the room for the flames to swallow. Gaius put his hand on Merlin's shoulder and tried to speak as mildly as he could.

“Merlin, my boy, your care is the blessing for me, but let my words be heard first."

"Gaius!"

"Merlin, please... I am of little use to you while you try to solve the sunstone puzzle. It's the Dragon who will now determine your fate, not me. If you do solve this puzzle, and I adjure you so to do, I will be waiting for you. Merlin, the struggle for the throne is nowhere near its end. Arthur is but at the dawn of fighting for the crown, and you will need somebody close to Camelot court, if Arthur fails to win the throne by just calling his banners. Besides, I am sure that once King Ryence is back from Brechfa, my conditions will be reviewed. I suppose Lady Yrien acted a bit too... feverishly when she decided to isolate me in such a horrible manner.”

Merlin closed his eyes and he could foresee, by how his inhales became abrupt and deep, that he was about to burst into tears. 

"Gaius, I've not only come here so that you could help me with sunstone! You're my friend and I would've rescued you anyway! Because I know you would've rescued me!" his voice turned into a tearful plea.

Merlin's tear-provoking and tear-provoked honesty did manage to move the old physician, who, although never emotionless, would rarely expose his helplessly sentimental side. 

"Merlin, not only am I touched by your courage, but... I am also proud of you! You are a man of kindest heart, a son any mother would dream of. But Merlin, my boy, it is the future of the whole kingdom that can now be resting on your and Arthur's shoulders, the peaceful life and happiness of the generations to come. You must let me try and gain back my court position, for how otherwise would Arthur..."

“Gaius, this Yrien threw you here out of a vague shade of suspicion! If she ever finds out you’re helping me...”

“She will not. We will keep our connection through Tom, the innkeeper at the Rising Sun. He is trustworthy.”

Merlin turned away and approached the verge, and let his gaze get lost in the silky black of the night. _Of course, he has a good point. He's Gaius, after all, the ancient and wise Gaius. I'm a dreamer, I know I am, I just want Arthur to win the throne back wihtout shedding a single drop of blood, but will it really be the way we envision? In this world, where innocent people are slaughtered for gold debts of the mighty lords? If the war's to be fought at the battles, will I need a person close to Camelot court?_ For a moment of silence that seemed to be lasting longer than they could both permit, Merlin was staring into the sky, hoping for the stars to come out and speak the answer. The night was starless.

“Gaius, I know you're right, but I... I don’t think it’s a good plan,” he finally concluded.

For some reason, Merlin's honest summary made Gaius laugh a little.

"Merlin, how many times have I told you the very same words? And yet you acted according to your instincts... Well, my boy, my instincts do tell me I need to stay here. You need not worry so much. Camelot is so far not the most dangerous place after Uther’s death. It's a mighty castle. It was you who defied assassins and The Gatekeeper of the Spirit World, while I was resting comfortably in the Western Tower... Merlin, you _need_ ears and eyes at the Royal Court.”

Merlin had no words left to persuade the physician to join him and run away from the castle. Gaius was offering help and he was fully aware of all the risks he could earn himself by doing so. And so did Mordon, Owaine and Gwaine, and every single soul that dared support Arthur in his campaign. Empty of words, Merlin stepped into Gaius's embrace, and he tried to hug his mentor as though they were parting for days, maybe weeks, he petted the old physician on the shoulder just to let him know he didn't suspect it was a farewell. _It is not a farewell. Gaius, when Arthur's king, you will be the royal master of herbs, I promise._

“Gaius, there’re two more things I need to learn before I go," Merlin's voice was stronger now. "There was the Sidhe staff under my bed...”

A frown of curiosity was creasing Gaius's already too wrinkled forehead.

“There was? Oh, I hope it has not been found! The staff has slipped out of my mind when I was... rearranging my chambers.”

“Gaius, why do I feel like my magic turns more powerful when I perform it with the staff?”

“Because the staff is an object which has been magically enchanted to help a wizard or a witch channel their magic power through it,” Gaius replied quickly, as if he had learned the expression by heart.  

“And why is it such an object?”

“The core of Sidhe staff is made of a magic crystal.”

“You know of any other magic objects that help wizards channel their magic?”

“Old legends speak of magic rings, but they are extremely rare,” Gaius said.

"Why don't wizards... er... create such objects for themselves? The objects that would channel their magic?"

"Because no wizard or witch, not even the High Priestess of Avalon holds enough power to do it. The staff is of Sidhe origins, Merlin, and they are ancient. As ancient as the dragons. Their staff is powerful, and it can help you greatly."

“I’ll need this staff. And books, I guess.”

“Merlin, all the magic books... The day the election was held, I left Gwen and rearranged my chambers and hid the books somewhere safe.”

“Where?"

"In the burial crypt," Gaius said. "I've emptied the tomb of Sir Laurence and hid all the books there in a leather pack."

"And where's Sir Laurence resting now?" 

"In the tomb of Lady Laurence," Gaius replied briskly and innocently. "I am not proud of making them get together, for they were not said to be the happiest couple, but what else could I do? It's the only place where Yrien would never bother to search, it seems. I hope I haven't disturbed Sir Laurence peace by what I did."

"Oh, Gaius," Merlin smiled. "Must you really stay?"

“It’s for the best. Now go, my boy. The dawn will break soon.”

"Before I go, Gaius, where is Gwen? Where can I find her? Why would Yrien arrest _Gwen_?" 

***

Merlin had to be as quick and agile as possible, for the night indeed left not much time before the dawn. Gaius’s chambers were in the South-Eastern Tower of the castle, safely remote from the most populous rooms, for in the older days it was common for the physician to keep his patients in his tower for some time. The nobles, who were afraid to catch some mysterious and incurable sickness, let Gaius occupy the most remote of the castle towers.

Merlin descended the staircase and turned up in the corridor at the Western Tower. The way to Gaius’s chambers lay either through the northern or the western wing – but the northern one was where most of the noble families dwelled, while the western corridor was leading to the southern wing, where squires and kitchen maids halls were.

Merlin peeked, carefully, out of the corner on the second storey to see four guards positioned there. He descended the staircase to the first storey, where he was likely to meet less guards due to the absence of bedrooms, and in doing so, he soon proved to be right.

The only guard on the first storey was walking along the corridor. Merlin knew the guard's technique: the lad would disappear behind the southern turn for some time before emerging to walk all the length to the basement of the western tower. So when the yellow-cloaked figure disappeared behind the corner, Merlin knew he had a couple of minutes to act. The western wing’s first floor had all sorts of room with rich household things for nobles, including storages for wines, silk, velvet, weapons, heraldic symbols, all rooms with terribly old creaky doors with heavy locks. Merlin could unlock any door with magic, obviously, but he could not do it silently, and the sound of the opening door would not go unnoticed in the night where even mice would make a monstrous noise.

_What must I do? There have never been guards in this area before. The lock have always been thought to be enough. Damn this new king and this new Councilor of Camelot. I can obviously knock the guard out and pull him into one of these rooms, but that would give me so little time… But do I need much time to grab a staff? Not really. And then I’ll go for the crypts. Oh, I hate it… But I must make it look like it was an accident, really._

When the guard re-appeared from behind the corner, the poor lad had too little time to notice the yellow flicker in the dark corner which led to the Western Tower staircase, and he tried to lean on his spear when the polished armor suddenly jerked and the wolf-shaped helmet, decorative and not destined to be worn at the battlefield, flew into the guard’s head. The poor lad took the blow courageously, opened his mouth, his lips moving like those of a fish thrown out of the sea on the shore. For a moment, he tried to lean on the spear, but finally fell on his knees before kissing the ground. Merlin had stepped out of the shadow, his hand raised and his eyes fixed on the heavy helmet, which kept levitating in the air so that it would not make the terrible clattering noise from falling on the floor.

Merlin put the helmet back on the trophie armor and dragged the guard into the wine room. There, Merlin positioned the lad’s loosened body against the wall, took a bottle of wine in expensive purple glass and poured a good cup into the lad’s mouth. Merlin waited some more time before pouring another cup, tilting the lad’s head so that the guard wouldn’t choke. Merlin felt sorry about him, he really did. _For his own sake, I hope he doesn’t report the incident when he wakes up. If he does, though, so much the worse for him. And if he is found before he wakes up, they will see nothing but a guard who decided to steal a bottle of expensive wine._

Merlin walked out of the room, choosing not to shut the door, and hurried along the corridor, his steps fast and easy like those of a deer. The physician’s tower was unguarded and the steps seemed oddly unwelcome as Merlin was making his way up the circling staircase.

He didn’t like what he saw. The scene resembled what had happened to Gaius’s room after the horrible witchfinder incident, when Uther’s guards had turned the whole place upside down. Beige thick pages torn barbarically off the thick volumes, the leather covers with the traces of the foot prints and dust, pieces of colored glass, and the table that was lying on the side just like a wounded animal. _Savages. What were they looking for? Letters to Arthur?_

Merlin raced upstairs into the small room that used to be his home before Arthur offered him to move into his chambers, out of intentions that, as Merlin now knew, did spread far beyond the point of pity. Merlin’s roomed looked rather innocently tidy, and it seemed the guards spared their manners because they thought there could be nothing important in the servant's chambers. Merlin smiled, for he always liked, he almost cherished those situations where his foes underestimated him. _They better underestimate me all the way they want, I will have a chance to say thank you to each and every one of them._

Merlin tore the wooden block away and pulled his staff from the secret hiding place under his bed. Something happened to the sunstone on his chest, and for a second or two, it seemed to Merlin the stone was about to make a sound, but all it did was produce a brighter than usual flicker of yellow light.

 _Staff_. Merlin could feel the power in his hand. Now he was stronger than he had ever been, the magic in him welling up and searching for means to express its might, to let its breath mingle with the summer wind. Merlin didn’t know the limits of his powers with this staff in his hand, but he had a couple of ideas he thought were worth exploring after talking to the Dragon. _What will Arthur say when he learns I can command the Dragon? Arthur... There's no need, no need to think about it. Not now, no, no, not even tomorrow. Not before we meet will it matter. I can’t know what might happen even today. Everything is changing daily now._

_Now I need to go to the crypt and then get out as soon as possible. When the guard regains his consciousness, he will report it and the bells will ring and guards will be thrown at every bridge that leads out of the castle. And I will leave using the passage we used to smuggle Mordred out of the castle. Sounds like a good plan._

The entrance to the crypts was in the Eastern Wing, and Merlin treaded carefully. However, his cautiousness was of no use, for nobody bothered to be guarding the dead. In the hall which had a sinister blueish aura carved into the stone faces of the dead and their tombs, Merlin felt scared of something he couldn't describe. There seemed to be no place for either peace of grief in the crypts. Something had changed, something bad was happening, and Merlin thought that the sunstone was about to start spiraling on his chest. The statues of the gone kings and queens, sirs and ladies were staring at Merlin, with accusing wickedness in the voids where their eyes were supposed to shine.

Merlin spent some time looking for the tomb of Sir Laurence, and it took him some time to move the heavy stone. _How the bloody hell did Gaius cope with it?_  The resting place of Sir Laurence was indeed empty, and the books Gaius had so carefully hidden were there, in a tight leather pack. But there was something more. Something that produced a dim glow, something that looked like steel. _The sword of Medihr! Did Gaius find it in my room, too?_ Merlin didn't like that sword. Not only because the dead knights who were armed with it had tried to kill him and Arthur, but also because the blades forged in the days of the old religion were objects of powerful magic Merlin didn't want to touch. 

Merlin didn’t know what to do. The idea of leaving the sword of Old Religion lying in the grave of Sir Laurence seemed wrong. _Possessing the blade can bring some benefits, can't it?_ The temptation infected Merlin's mind with strange and unexpected alertness. _On the other hand, the sword has been in Camelot for more than a month which passed since the dragon regained freedom and tried to avenge Camelot. Why can’t it stay here for another month?_

The thought which crossed Merlin’s mind seemed wild but exciting.  _Arthur might need a special weapon, too, just like I can need the staff. Is the sword of Medihr better to rest in Sir Laurence's grave? Can there be a need of this sword? Now that Morgause is back? Can there?_

When Merlin was packed and about to go, he heard the steps and grabbed his staff in a desperate and hysterical attempt to find shelter in the room where there was literally nowhere to hide. Nowhere except... Merlin threw the pack, the sword and the staff into Sir Laurence's tomb and dove into it. He could feel the gravely cold stone through the rain-soaked tunic, and he barely had time to raise his hands and to make his eyes flash before the voices became distinguishable. His magic made the stone move and swallow Merlin, locking him in the impenetrable darkness of Sir Laurence's tomb. His breath became feverish and the veins on his head felt thick and pulsing. 

“…and Galla is sure it’s because of the seals, there could be no other reason," the voice belonged to a woman; it was slow and sweet like honey and mint, but something about her tone betrayed the firmness of the character. "Now that Ryence has won the war, the smallfolk love him dearly, he is the new hero of this land. Always been, they say. Not even the dreadful Vyda Gaheris can think of opposing King Ryence now. The West will bend the knee."

"That's why Vyda's grandson has arrived for the tourney?" a male, nasal voice inquired. 

"I'm sure Vidor is not here just for the tourney. He is a young lad and has all the thirst for feats and glory, make no doubt, but he must have traveled all the way from Daobeth to bring a message, the new terms from his grandmother. Not just to unhorse other men with that stick, I reckon." 

“What do you expect of me, Anna? What other burdens do you wish for my family? To act as we once thought to act is late. Time is like a river, irreversible yet easy to drown in,” the nasal male voice snapped back, his tone defensive and irritated. 

“You’ve been reading too much poetry, Caradol. It’s never too late to be what we want to be, never too late to have our say. I am not asking for any _burdens_ for your family, and it’s not that your family is overburdened, might I land a remark?”

“Being Galla’s husband has been a burden,” the man clearly attempted to joke.

“Yet you’ve been together for forty years, astonishing for someone who thought their marriage was a burden. But off with it, off with your dear wife. Galla has never been an easy person, but she’s been most dutiful. You know _what_ we need.”

“Anna, if what we need is what you say, we should not have taken part in the elections of the new king in the first place. The wisest move was to take our families West to Asgorath and refuse to provide the Great Council with enough seals to consider the election legitimate. You were foolish to believe you could win enough votes to secure the throne.”

“And you were foolish enough to vote for me, Caradol. Why, I admit I acted a bit carefree, but am I to blame? I was hoping for the brighter future, I was given the first chance to restore the dynasty in thirty-two years and I confess, I used it at once. For thirty-two years my family could not thwart Uther, so when he died so suddenly, I believed the election was worth trying. I finished second, might I remind you?”

“And now this election has the whole kingdom on the brink of war, Anna. Peasants may know nothing about it and the Lower Town may be happy admiring the reconstruction of the burnt buildings, and everyone has been caught-up in preparations for the tourney to celebrate the end of war and Rion’s sixteenth name day, but beneath it all, the threat of war is as real as nobody dares to admit. If the West refuses to bend the knee, with two thousands armed soldiers in their hands…”

“Accolon…”

“Accolon is nothing to them, Anna! He has no power in the West. I ask you, Anna, who is Accolon for the West? He is but the Councilor of War to the king whom neither Lord Catigern, nor Vyda Gaheris nor my dear wife Galla have recognized so far. Now Galla is caught in the position nobody would envy. She has to try and cool Vyda’s temper, which can be a bit stormy, as we all know, and at the same time Galla must heat old Catigern up so that the old fool doesn’t give his seal to Accolon easily. If this somehow gets out of hand… We’ve had enough problems already. Anna, I’ve lost my son in the Dragon Attack!”

“Then you must works twice as hard to make us all safer. There _is_ something you can do. Hengest died in Arthur’s patrol, he was too young to die, and his father is devastated. However, Hengest was not the only child in the family: Lord Ragnell still has a daughter, Mariessa. A maiden of sixteen. Lord Ragnell and me, we made plans at the Summer Feast, we agreed that my sweet granddaughter Ravenna would marry Hengest after he is knighted. But now that he is dead, we must not lose Lord Ragnell, for he is the Lord of Balor. Befriend him, please. Make Lord Ragnell an offer. You can still marry your youngest son to Lord Ragnell’s daughter...”

“Are you insane? Mariessa is sixteen and my youngest son is twenty-nine! Lord Ragnell would never agree to such a union. Never, I’m sure.”

“It’s worth trying.”

“What for? To gain Balor? It’s a distant and scarcely populated land! It doesn’t even have a castle!”

“It’s better to have Balor than not to have Balor. We must...”

“It would have been better if you had persuaded Accolon to join us. I still can’t believe you… Anna, he is your _cousin_.”

“He _was_ my cousin. It takes more than blood to belong with the Andor Dynasty. The day he betrayed my family and joined Uther, Accolon stopped mattering to me.” 

After their voices had melted away, Merlin was still lying in Sir Laurence's grave, running out of air and trying to digest what he had just heard. _Who were they? Why don't they like the new king?_ He grabbed the Sidhe staff in the darkness and _wished_ for the tomb to open; the next moment, the stone cracked and was torn to pieces by the beastly unruly magic that left Merlin both, terrified and bewildered. _Time to get out of the castle before King Ryence arrives. Oh, Gwen, I hope you're fine, I really do. I will not stand losing another friend._

 

 

 

 


	19. Gwen 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Gwen is saved by Rion, she can't help but think of a favor in return.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen POV

**Chapter 17: Good and Evil**

Lady Yrien abandoned her in the cells, and Gwen was left a prey to all the fears and despairs that would have been enough to drive the young mind insane. _She doesn't listen, won't listen, she never listens to Rion... What good does it make that he is her son? I've heard her slap him on the face, she is a monster and now..._ The hurried heavy steps could only mean that Ratcatch was returning, and Gwen knew that he was back to finish her. However, when he pulled her up and carried her out of the cells, she realized that the man who had just been torturing her, deaf to her begging for mercy, was escorting her to some other place.

Gwen was too weak and too broken to follow anything that was happening to her. She was brought to some room in the castle, it _must_ have been in the castle, for she had not breathed in the fresh air. She was stripped off her clothes and put in the warm bath by some caring hands, the young maids whose faces were like sun-blessed shining to Gwen. All the filth she had carried from the cells was soon gone, taken away by the silky waters and the rich oil smells that bore such a strong resemblance to the odors of Lady Yrien that Gwen nearly vomitted. The image of the elegantly dressed court lady would turn into a horrific vision of the midnight beast hungry for blood, and Gwen would quiver at every thought about Lady Yrien.

 _It was not accidental that she demanded Gaius's chambers to be searched the day she arrested the old physician, she was looking for me. She wanted to finish me, she doesn't need me alive, I know too much, know about her son and the plot against Uther... Oh, Goddess, what is happening now?_  After bath, Gwen was served with food and drinks; she drained five cups of water and feasted on ribs roasted with garlic and roots. She was put onto bed with tender sheets afterwards. It was only when her head touched the pillow and her body felt the warmth of the woolen blanket that she let her gaze apreciate the beige, milky air of the room which she had never before visited. And then, washed and fed, she was ready to fall asleep and wouldn't care if she'd be murdered. _Will they just do it without waking me up..._

She woke up in the middle of the night, sloberring and crying. She crawled out of her bed, fell and before long she was grovelling on the floor and whimpering for mercy through her lips that were cracking from thirst. It seemed to her there was no salvation, it seemed she was back to the blackest cells and it felt as though Ratcatch was there again, torturing her, and Lady Yrien was towering over her lifeless body, indifferent to all the pain the tongueless man was inflicting on her. It was the night when Gwen understood that the physical pain would go, that wounds of swords and daggers could often heal, while the humiliation and the mockery of her dignity could prove irreparable. Once her screams became too loud, the maids rushed into the room and hurried to give her some water and put her back to sleep. They never talked to her though, and Gwen didn't recognize their faces.  

_I killed the king. I helped Rion kill Uther because we both thought Arthur would be a better king who would save the commoners of Brechfa from Cenred's butchery. Turns out Cenred never went to Brechfa. The war was staged. Did Rion know? Did Rion? Did?..._

_***_

The next day, Gwen woke up because people's shouts, carried up high by the gusts of wind, mingled up with the dark visions of war in her dreams, and she woke up mistaking the shouts for battle cries. Gwen blinked, and for a tiny fraction of a moment she belonged with neither time nor space, having no idea to where and when she actually was. In this flash of a moment she knew nothing and her mind seemed to be lifted, but as she remembered her name and the horrible experiences of the previous days, the burdens returned, heavy as they were.

She looked around the room. The walls were milky white, the curtains as bright as atlas clouds, and the sheets and towels were fair, too. The room had an odd air of elegance, of conscious modesty and simplicity. The wind was caressing the curtains, and the sky, besieged by rainclouds, was singing songs of grey. Gwen never remembered seeing this room before. She stood up and noticed that the wounds on her fingers have been treated. _Was it by Gaius? Or do they have a new physician now?_ She came closer to the window to check the view. She saw the Darkling Wood. _Am I in the Western Tower? I can't be._

She saw dozen pavilions raised beside the moat, a dance of green, red, yellow, white and purple. _A tourney? Oh, but of course..._ From the height of her room the pavilions were naught more than the toys, expensive toys for big boys to play. _They toy with everything, these big boys, right? With lives of people who are not noble, with fates of the kingdoms, with futures of people who are not fit to belong with this land… How the hell did I end up in their game? I can't play by their rules, I wouldn't last a day._ The erected pavilions all had their own banners, and tables and benches had already been raised outside _. Soon they will be piled high with bread and wine and fresh wood berries... They all will feast and sing the songs of praise to King Ryence, the one who crashed the mighty Cenred. What a beautiful lie._

"You're awake," the voice made Gwen turn around and instinctively reach for something to protect her. It was _her_. "Finally. Oh, don't act fool on me. And don't look at me like I am the darkest criminal this land has ever known."

Lady Yrien was studying her warily. She was looking extraordinarily regal, with the jeweled tiara in her auburn hair. Her dress was that of blue velvet trimmed with white, and she had a silver chain around her neck to match the splendor of the tiara.

"You would have murdered me," Gwen whispered, even though she wanted to scream. However, the pain she had suffered and the three days without a single drop of water taught her to control the tone more than any courtesy lessons could.

Lady Yrien regarded her suspiciously, but she did nothing to object the whispered accusations. For a moment, there seemed to be a storm in the flicker of her eyes, but she subsided and said, although the cold of anger still present to her tone:

"You would have acted the same in my position."

"Never! I would never harm innocent people, never..."

"Hold your filthy tongue!" Yrien snapped, and Gwen didn't dare to look away. "Goddess knows my son has a story of sympathyzing peasant girls, but that doesn't give you the right to treat me with disrespect. I am the Councilor of Camelot. Anyway, I have not come here to offer appologies and neither to make terms." 

 _Then you best leave,_ Gwen thought, and it required all the strength left of her to not let those words pass her lips.

"Rion is my son," Yrien looked at her defiantly. "He is my family. My blood. My flesh. If you ever think of harming him, if you ever think of trying to help my foes bring him down, I will hunt you down and make sure Ratcatch finishes what he was supposed to finish. Do you understand that?"

"I do. My lady," Gwen took a step back, all her feelings and hopes taut.

"Good. Now keep it in that silly head of yours. You're not to leave the room until tomorrow."

Lady Yrien turned around, gathered her skirt and before she headed for the door, she let Gwen feel the weight of her eyes, so that another question was sure to pass Gwen's lips.

"And what happens tomorrow, my lady?"

"Why, but the king returns from Brechfa. Haven't you heard? We've smashed Cenred's army."

_And smashed my hopes, too._

***

Even though she was living the life of a noble guest, with all the benefits of the royal life at her disposal, Gwen felt there was the power of darkness spreading within her, the darkness of such might she found it harder and harder to resist.

She spent the rest of the day after Yrien's visit trying to figure out where she was. The room had a view that would be possible only from the Royal Tower, but the room looked like none of the Royal Tower bedchambers. Gwen wondered who had once used to live in this place, to fill this room with his or her energy. Something suggested the previous owner had been a woman, but what woman?

Yrien had seemingly ordered the maids to not talk to Gwen, for all they did was bring her food and empty her chamber pot. _These girls have never worked in the castle before. They are the maids from Brechfa, they must be. Is Yrien rearranging the household? Is she trying to replace the old servants with those of Brechfa?_

She slept a lot, for beneath the woolen blanket, she felt as safe as she could feel under the present circumstances. Gwen didn't trust in Lady Yrien's promise and her order inspired even more anxiety. _Why am I to stay in this room until tomorrow? What will happen to me once the king arrives from Brechfa?_

Gwen was sitting by the window, watching the rain run down the sky. It had been raining all day, and soon the sullen grey mass of water would obscure everything: the greenery of the Darkling Wood, the brown of the village houses and the grey and beige of the Lower Town. The rain turned so strong it even obscured the faraway fields Gwen could see from the height of her room, and even the sunset fire could not seep through the sky which looked like a wet grey cloth.

When the darkness came, Gwen surrendered to the darkness of night and let the void in her heart swallow her after all. She drew the beige curtains around her bed, and she lay there weeping, cold under the woolen blankets, and it seemed the shivers of grief would never stop. She didn't know what she was grieving. _The dreams for the life under a better king? The dreams for Arthur succeeding his father and undoing the wrongs of Uther's throne? The dreams of bringing my father, my brother, my mother and Morgana back and leading the happy peaceful life amidst the loving family and a caring mistress?_

 _I tried to make it right. I really wanted Arthur to rule and I never meant to kill Uther instantly... I just wanted him to die sooner, Goddess, was it a bad thing to wish after what he had done to my father, oh Goddess..._ The night welcomed her into a leaden, dreamless sleep.

***

The next morning, the maids were serving the table for two, and Gwen realized she was to meet a guest. When he came, knocking on the door softly, Gwen looked surprised. There seemed to remain so little of the lad who had arrived at Camelot three weeks ago: in black velvets slashed with crimson and a shimmering gold cape with a high collar, Rion looked like a young knight of songs all the maidens would dream of. _And here I am, with red swollen eyes, puffy from all the night's crying..._

"Gwen, I was hoping to see you fed and safe," Rion indeed smiled to see her, and it appeared to be the sweetest and saddest smile Gwen had ever been offered.

"My lord," she bowed down.

"Gwen, please. You of all people can simply call me Rion. We've discussed it. We don't need those titles."

Gwen ignored that. _Time for befriending nobles is over. I can't be seriously hoping to be close with Rion, he is a prince now, and Yrien's son. She has been clear, if she ever suspects I am trying to..._

"My lord, I am afraid the lessons I've learned under new king's reign have taught me differently. I dare no more step away from the courtesies."

Rion frowned, and when he spoke, his voice was sharp. 

"Gwen, I have nothing to do with it, I swear. I've tried my best, day and night, I tried to get you out of my mother's claws. I knew the subject was intimate and she would want to question you herself, and I kept spying on her. She was fearing you."

"Fearing me? She?!" Gwen gasped anxiously. "Rion, I mean, my lord, she is the sister of the king, the Councilor of Camelot! She holds enough power to end my life which she nearly did and..."

"I only regret I haven't found you earlier. Gwen, I was spying on her, hoping she'd lead me to you. I was looking for you. I never wanted any harm come..."

"My lord, I don't see a single reason why this conversaion must go on. A while ago you were persuading me. You were trying to tell me the new king, Arthur, would free the land of Brechfa and save the commoners abandoned by Uther. And I believed you!"

Rion spun on his heal and it looked as though Rion was taking his leave; but it was only that the young lad locked the door. Wheh he turned to face her, Rion was wringing his hands together.

"Gwen, the tragedy of Arthur's death is something I'm still to stomach. But our hopes have not been lost, our dreams not dreamed in vain. My uncle did all that. He accomplished what we both hoped for. Cenred is defeated. His forces are scattered. They are on the run. The commoners are free. King Ryence has returned to the castle."

"I have been told that."

"Gwen. My mother," Rion gave a weary shake of his head. "She suspected you could share our secret with some people. Some people who are not happy about my uncle being the new King. There are those who'd rather see... Well, someone else on the throne, even though he was elected according to Camelot's rules. I have managed to persuade my mother you would do no such thing, for confessing in poisioning the king would mean losing your head. You value your life too much to risk in vain. Have I misjudged you?"

His words gave Gwen chills. _He is defying his mother to protect me. Or so he wants to make me think._

"You have not, my lord. Our secret is safe with me. My lord, I... I have never been a part of the court in the first place. And I will do my best to stay away from it."

"Good. You will no longer be watched, unless the king himself gives the order. I doubt he will, for he knows naught of your existence."

"My lord is ever kind." 

Rion smiled and there was a flash of curiousity in his eyes, and it seemed to Gwen he would love to stay for more, to discuss more, and, maybe, to invite her to the feast that would see the end of the war with Cenred. _Except for there has never been a war with Cenred. And Ryence will never be a king so long as Arthur is somewhere out there, doing everything in his powers to quench his thirst for justice. But Rion, Rion, he can be innocent of any wrong, he is so young and so sweet and... What if he never knew? When I shared my suspicions with him, he threw me against the wall because the suspicion itself was an insult to him and to his family honor. He refused to believe that his uncle, one the most famous warriors in Camelot, would be such a coward and send archers to murder defenseless Arthur..._

"Rion, stay," Gwen wailed, confused and frightened of what she was about to do. _Is it right? Goddess, I don't even know what's right_. "Rion, I owe you my life and I don't want you to lose yours." 

"Gwen?" Rion murmured. "What do you mean by this?" 

"Rion, will you swear to keep it secret? Between you and me? Just like I have sworn to not share our secret to members of the court?" 

Rion's expression suggested the lad was caught up in a helpless distress. 

"I swear," he said, gallant and proud. 

"Rion, you must know that Arthur lives. He never died in Brechfa, he is alive. All the stories about wraith are lies. Arthur is somewhere out there, seeking ways to regain what is rightfully his, and his anger at those who murdered his father will know no limits. He will come for you and for me, and for everybody he will suspect of plotting. I beg you, Rion, if the day comes... You must never... If you value your life, you must do what is right... You must look for peace..." 

With a smile as bright as dawn light over wheat fields, Rion leaned close and kissed her gently on the cheek. 

"Gwen, I appreciate your concerns. But your mind has suffered from the tortures of my mother. Never speak such words to anybody else, for they will think you are mad. Arthur is dead and they say the prince has turned into wraith, for his tomb has been broken and the guards near the crypts killed. Now you must forgive me for not breaking my fast with you. I have meetings to attend. You will be free to go with my mother's permit." 

 

 


	20. Gwen 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen is free now. As the rain washes over Camelot, she tries to think of the path she'll follow, but her thoughts are interrupted by somebody she didn't hope to meet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen POV

**Chapter 18: Apportion the Blame**

As Gwen walked down the Western Bridge, the rain was pelting down from a nebulous sky. Gwen was reminded of the day when Gaius was arrested. _Was it five days ago? Yes, it must be five. To think that I was shocked with Yrien's attitude to Gaius... To think that I was shocked by the lack of respect... To think that I found her too cruel for putting Gaius under detention... To my sorrow, I've learned the extents of her real cruelty. She is a monster that thinks she belongs with kindness simply because she justifies everything she's doing by having a son. And caring for him. This is so wrong, and what's worse is that I have nowhere to complain. Her abuse is beyond any justice and there is no way she can be punished for what she has done to me. It's like her right for violence is valued above my right for peaceful life._

Gwen spent some time standing on the bridge, looking down at the murky waters of the moat, at the grey sheet stirred by the fat raindrops. Gwen's hair hung wet and heavy, but the rain was warm and she didn't fear she'd take a chill. Nearly a month ago she had opened up to Gaius about everything that was eating her and ruining her sleep. A month ago, she'd felt abandoned, unwelcome and lost in the castle after Morgana's disappearance, and when Gaius offered her the new job, she felt liberated and full of hopes for better future. Nothing would ever replace Morgana, she knew, nothing would repair her life to the sweet common order of things which used to make her feel needed, but Gaius's idea suggested there had been somebody in the castle to care about her. _Well, Merlin was there, too, but I had not seen him since the Dragon Attack and the day that followed my conversation about the new job, Merlin and Arthur rode away to Ascetir on some urgent mission... And when Merlin came back from Ascetir, everything changed. He told me about Morgana and..._

Fat drops of water were running down her face. The rain, however warm, had sent people looking for the nearest shelters, and even the Main Street of the Lower Town seemed unsummerly dark and empty as Gwen was making way for her house. There were carpets of wildflowers beneath her feet, the tender white and pink of dog rose with their round fat petals, the fragile snow-white of nightshade, honeysuckle and pignut, the lilac bells of late bugle flowers and the sweet foxglove the color of wild strawberry sunrise, all sinking in mud. Judging by the number of flowers on the streets, the king had been met warmly and his arrival, so keenly anticipated by the smallfolk, proved to be the warmest welcome with the most grateful love of the commoners for their new monarch.

Her street was ever calm. _Brunhilda must be keeping her three children home all the time, and Grettha must be preaching the days of the world's end since there's a wraith in Camelot. That's something she would do. The day the cart was brought from the forests of Brechfa she kept yelling it was war and Cenred was marching to besiege Camelot. I can't imagine all the ugly tales she's been making up recently..._

Gwen grimaced. Ugly tales they might be, but people believed in them anyway. _If only they knew... But how do I tell them? How can one make them believe? They live happily in the world where King Ryence has smashed Cenred of Essetir and where the corpse of Arthur has escaped his grave and has turned into a wraith, in the world that has little to do with reality... Yet they are free to believe their own lies..._

There was something wrong about her house, she felt it the moment she stepped over the threshold. Not only were there the leftovers of food on the table, but she saw honeysuckle in the vase on a smaller table, next to the candlelight. The flowers were fresh, as though put there recently. Her chest refused to rise as she held her breath, heavy with alarm.

"Who is here?" her voice was hoarse from fear. "Show yourself!"

She left the door open, so that she could run away if... The figure emerged from behind the screen where her purple summer dress had been hanged. Tall, long-haired and broad-shouldered, with heavy nose and pointy chin.

"Gwaine!"

"Princess," he bowed down. "Never meant to frighten you. Close the door, will you?"

Gwen reached for the door, but the instant she remembered what her last meeting with Gwaine had caused her. The black void of Yrien's cells, three days without water and tortures of Ratcatch. _Why do I need to listen to this lad at all?_ She turned around and tried to voice her defiance, and another figure appeared from behind the wooden screen. Slim and dark-haired, with an oval, awkwardly prolonged face, giant ears and the black hair that was curling from the heavy rain like sheep's wool.

“Merlin!” Gwen nearly screamed and shut the door. "What even... Merlin!"

She couldn't remember the day she had last seen him, but for some unexplainable reason his presence in her house seemed a work of miracle to her, and she rushed to Merlin and flung herself at him and let her arms around his neck and kissed him on both cheeks. His tunic was rain-soaked, there was a sort of medallion on his chest, and he seemed to have lost some weight, but it didn't matter, nothing mattered, for it was Merlin, Merlin, her friend, the person who remembered her, the person who cared about her, someone who knew that life had been different, a needle to the thread of her past, the past they shared, where everything used to be different, where she could always ask Morgana for help, where Arthur kissed her and was so kind to her, where father was alive and together they could cope with everything, even the bandits in Ealdor... Merlin was the living proof that those days had been real, the shining reminder of the different life in Camelot. She couldn't stop tears, and Merlin spoke nothing, he just kept caressing her hair, rather awkwadly. _If I did something that's right, why am I in tears now? Why am I crying? Why do I think of old days under Uther's reign as of the happiest days of my life? Had I hated Uther before he killed my father?_

“Gwen! You’re alive! You’re safe! You're alive, thank Goddess! Gwen, Gwen, Gwen!” Merlin kept saying feverishly.

When she felt out of tears and her inhales and exhales started to harmonize, she let him go and glanced at his pale face. _Why is he so pale in the middle of the summer? He looks sort of sick._ Gwaine smiled as he was watching them; he too, seemed innocently happy from being a part of such a touching scene.

“Merlin, what are you doing here? Are you insane? You can't just come to Camelot, everybody remembers you're Arth..."

“Gwen, keep it down, please," Merlin hissed as he approached the window and peeked outside through the drawn curtains. "Gwen, I trust you’ve met Gwaine?”

“Hey there, pretty girl,” Gwaine raised his hand. "Mind we start the fire? We're both soaked-through."

“Why haven't you started the fire without me?"

"We thought that flames in the fireplace of an abandoned house could seem a little suspicious, you know," Merlin smiled. "You've been missing for five days, right?"

"How do you know?" Gwen asked, locking the door, so that she would at least have time if... She didn't want to think about suffering something similar to the price of Gwaine's previous visit.

"We asked your neighbor," Gwaine said, taking his tunic off. The sight of his lean pale chest and strong arms made Gwen want to turn around.

"Grettha?"

"Didn't ask her name, pretty girl," Gwaine shrugged. "All I can say is that spit rains from her mouth the way water rains from the sky!"

"That's clearly Grettha," Gwen smiled. "Why are you here this time? I can't be meeting you, Gwaine, the last time..."

“Gwen, what did they do to you?" Merlin, who was standing by the window to make sure no visitors were walking up or down the street, turned around. "I mean, why were they following you...er... in the first place? You're just a servant to them, they couldn't know..."

“They followed me because that day, Gaius was put under detention. They were looking for me, because Yrien commanded them to find me. She was afraid I would tell someone.”

“Tell what?” Merlin frowned.

Gwen tried to direct her gaze elsewhere; at the dirty boots Gwaine had thrown under the bench, at the leftovers of something that looked like roasted geese. For some reason, she felt she wanted to hide from Merlin's eyes which were too heavy on her. It seemed to her the rain was falling harder, it seemed to her the rainfall had turned into a drumming against the roof of her house.

"What are you doing here this time?" she asked, her voice trembling.

“We had to change our rooms, so to say," Merlin replied quickly. "I was in the castle last night. I've met Gaius and I...er... had to deal with the guards, they must have noticed and Lady Yrien must have ordered the inns to be searched..."

"You had to deal with the guards?" Gwen asked before she realized it could sound a little mean for Merlin. "I didn't meant to... I just..."

"Doesn't she know you ha..." Gwaine asked but the look Merlin gave him made the long-haired lad shut his mouth.

"Don't I know what?" Gwen pressed her attack, hoping Merlin would forget the question he had just asked. "Merlin, what's going on?"

"I've knocked some guards on my way out of the castle," Merlin said, his eyes still gleaming and Gwaine's expression puzzled and confused. "We couldn't remain in the inn, for if..."

"Merlin, there must be dozens of knights in the Lower Town and the Southern Village, knights from all over the kingdom to take part in the tourney, and craftsmen and merchants to celebrate the end of war, and I bet the commoners from all the neighboring villages are here, too. The inns must be full and chances someone will pay you any special attention are bleak."

"We couldn't risk. We looked for you the day we arrived at Camelot, and we learnt you'd been missing, and we thought we could use your house to spend one night before..."

"Before _what_?"

"Before moving on," Merlin glanced at her warily. "Gaius told me Yrien might be keeping you close to her as the new serving girl. Why have you been missing? Gwen?"

Gwen's mind was dull by exhaustion of all kinds. She didn't want to tell him the truth, for it was too bitter, yet she was tired of clandestine plots and complicated matters. _But what would be left of me then? What would be left of our friendship? He hasn't been honest with me about Morgana, true, he was alone the bearer of her secret, because she asked him so... But he can tell Arthur... He won't, if I ask him to..._

"What was Lady Yrien afraid you would tell?" Merlin repeated.

"That I poisoned Uther," Gwen whispered.

Fear caught Gwaine and Merlin in its jaws. Gwaine was standing still, as though afraid to move, and Merlin was frowning, as though he had just learnt a nasty suspicion about his close friend. The drums of rain seemed deafening.

“No," Merlin whispered back. "Oh, Gwen…”

“I had to!” she said tearfully, the urge to justify herself outdoing everything in her tone.

“ _WHY_?! Why did you have to do this in the middle of the bloody war?!” Merlin thundered out in a voice that didn't seem to belong to him, the voice so strong that it drowned out Gwaine's intention to step in.

“There is no war!” Gwen screamed back.

“We know it now, we've all learnt, to our sorrow, but back then, we all thought there _WAS_ a war! We all thought Cenred’s invasion _WAS_ happening! Gwen, for the sake of Camelot, what did you hope to achieve by murdering the king in the middle of the foreign army assault?!”

“I wanted another king! A king that would save the commoners rather than choose to make them victims of his grand military schemes and …”

“And instead you chose to become a tool in the grandest scheme of all! Gwen, they nearly killed Arthur thanks to your help!”

“I didn’t know it!" Gwen sucked in the air and screamed. "Didn't know Rion was planning to kill Arthur! I didn’t know they were planning to harm Arthur!"

“And what did you think they were planning to kill Uther for? Just to let Arthur succeed him? Oh, Gwen how could you be so…”

“So what?! _WHAT_?!”

“STUPID!” Merlin shouted angrily.

“Stupid? Wasn’t it you who came to me once, asking if…”

 “That was a different story and…”

“A different story!" Gwen's face was a study of poisonous and mad contempt. "Of course! With you it's always a different story, Merlin! Alright, I messed the things up and they might have used me, but was it bad for me to wish to see Arthur on the throne?! Was it, oh was it, Merlin?!”

“Arthur would’ve become king anyway, the day…”

“ _WHEN_?! How long were we supposed to wait?" Gwen was pointing all around the house. "Those who didn’t tolerate and those who loathed Uther’s ways, those who suffered from his cruelty?! I ask you, how long did we have to bear?! Was wishing change a mistake?! A crime?!”

“Conducting changes is often as important as imagining them and…”

“Says who?! The boy who let his friend wither in this castle?!" Gwen spat it out at him loke poison. "The boy who did nothing to help Morgana?! You knew her secret and yet you was of no help to her, you…”

They were interrupted by a short, sudden knock. Gwaine, who hadn't been brave enough to step into the fierce battle of words between Gwen and Merlin, reached for the long iron stick Gwen used to scatter wood in the fireplace.

“You expecting someone, pretty girl?” he asked quietly. 

Gwen shook her head.

“Then I fear we have uninvited guests. Maybe the next time you lovebirds decide to find out who’s been murdering who and how just and fair it is, you’ll keep your voices down a bit. Especially if the murder lists you discuss include some distinguished names, like those of kings, old and new.”

Gwen's heart was sent into gallop by another soft knock. She stepped back and looked at the door in the most terrifying moment of her life. _Was Rion's promise that I wouldn't be watched a lie?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Twenty chapters out so far! *PARTY* 
> 
> So, a third of "The Guiding Star" is behind us already! As for the plot coverage, this chapter is in some way a notable point. Merlin's not going to stay at Gwen's house after their quarrel, he'll be off to the meeting with Kilgharrah - providing they manage to cope with the unexpected guest, of course *TIME TO KICK ASS*
> 
> Gwen's and Gwaine's story is now going to remain central to the plot, for another 6 chapters, and Merlin's story (5 chapters) and Morgana's story (4 chapters) will be running parallel to Gwen and Gwaine's arch until something big happens *ENIGMA*
> 
> Thank you so much for following! <3
> 
> Next updates on Feb, 19! ;)


	21. On Her Own

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The heated meeting at Gwen's house turns more heated with the arrival of not the most unexpected guest.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen POV

#  VOLUME II

# THE SHADOWS

  
I am thy father's spirit,  
Doomed for a certain term to walk the night  
And for the day confined to fast in fires  
Till the foul crimes done in my days of nature  
Are burnt and purged away.

\- William Shakespeare.

 

Even though she had just been shouting at Merlin, and Merlin had been shouting back at her, she was now clutching the sleeve of his tunic as her heart was racing through the frozen moment of time. _I will not go back to those cells, I'd rather throw myself off the bridge and sink in the moat waters. I will not stand seeing Ratcatch again, Goddess, no, pelase, no!_

"We must run," Gwen whispered, her arm jerking and threatening to tear Merlin's sleeve. "Please, you don't know her, Merlin, she is dangerous, she is a monster, she probably set me free so that she could..."

Merlin was not listening to her. His gaze was following Gwaine, who was standing by the door with the iron stick in his hands, still as a statue. The two exchanged looks, and Merlin nodded, as though giving Gwaine his permission to open the door. Gwen stepped back to hide behind Merlin's back. _Why is Gwaine asking Merlin for permission? Gwaine's twice his size._

"Who's there?" Gwaine's voice was strained as a bowstring when he addressed the knock from behind the door.

"It's me," a familiar voice responded.

Gwen couldn't believe what was happening. She had just been feeling the cold winning her fingers, one by one, and now... _Goddess, will I ever know life of peace?_ She let out a nervous grunt, and turned away to face the wall before she said:

"Let him in. We've nothing to fear."

The door flew open with a resounding crash that made Gwen whirle. She turned around to make sure there would not be any follies. Gwaine stepped back, ready to slash whoever was there with a heavy iron stick. 

Lancelot was standing at the threshold, chewing his thin pink lips uncertainly. Yet even in the moment of puzzlement like that, his was the most handsome face she had ever seen. Lancelot's face was as lavishly sweet as that of a girl, had it not been for the sharp glow of his brown eyes and the thin path of mustache above his upper lip. There was nothing that stood out, like Merlin's ears or Gwaine's nose; Lancelot's features seemed all balanced and proportioned, as though conjured by a master architect out of some southern honey-stone. 

"Let him in, I know him," Gwen said, taking a step forward. "And shut the bloody door."

Gwaine lowered the iron stick and Lancelot walked in, nervous from the sight of an armed stranger in Gwen's house. However, when he narrowed his sight on Merlin, his expression turned to bright and before long, it was Merlin who rushed forward and threw his arms around Lancelot the way Gwen was probably not expecting to see.

"Lance," Merlin said, excitement pouring through his words and gestures as he was rustling Lance's hair. "You've come back!"

"The instant I heard Uther was dead," Lance nodded, holding Merlin in his arms a bit too tight, to Gwen's taste. "Merlin, I was griefstruck when I learned that Arthur was slain..."

"Arthur's fine," Merlin blurted out.

Lancelot freed him off his embrace and stared at him in disbelief.

"What d'you mean? Fine how? Fine dead?"

"He's not dead, Lance. Not..."

"In case your heartwarming greeting is over, I just wanted to remind you, that you're all in my house," Gwen snapped, her eyes frozen on Lancelot. "What have you come here for?"

Lancelot cleared his throat.

"Gwen, I was looking for you! When I saw the guards take you away from the tavern..."

"Pardons for that, my lady," Gwaine cut in, probably realizing that their meeting at the Tavern of the Rising Sun had been too poorly planned and could have attracted a lot of unwanted royal attention to Gwen's persona.

Gwen smirked in response.

"You were looking for me, Lance? Really? Oh, how charming. Your bravery and your care are enough to make me cry those tears of sad love. A pitty you only turn brave and caring when I'm threatened by mad lords, ladies and wilddeorens. Once you save me, all your bravery vanishes, much like you do, right?"

It was not anger that was rising in her chest. It was the force mightier than the forest fire, the elemental feeling that was tearing her mind into hundreds of disjointed pieces working against each other and making her thoughts dart off into hundreds of directions at once. She wanted to scream, wanted to yell at Lancelot, she wanted to make him feel a share of the pain he had caused to her heart when he had left without saying goodbye. She wanted him to know how lonely and miserable and useless she had felt when she had returned to Camelot, how she used to lie on the floor, whispering his name in the darkness of the night. How she felt she'd never meet her love again after Arthur became cold and distant, too proud to digest the fact that Gwen had fallen in love with Lancelot. And even if there were a way to let him grasp the fraction of that suffering, that would not suffice, and she didn't know what would suffice, for there seemed to be nothing about Lancelot that could calm the storm of her heart. There was awkward pain in her stomach, her arms were shaking and she was feeling as though she had the urge to break her own fingers.

"Gwen, I went away because..."

"I will not hear about..."

"...Arthur was a prince and he...."

"I will not hear, I tell you..."

"...would have never let us..."

"I WILL NOT HEAR! I SAID I WILL NOT HEAR! IT'S MY HOME, I DON'T WANT TO HEAR ABOUT IT!"

_Why are they all so selfish, why do they all want to speak their truths that are always so noble and brillaintly witty, the truths that always paint them in the golden sunlight while I stay in the shadow?_

The urging pain in her arms and stomach made Gwen produce a shriek that seemed to belong with a brute rather than a girl, and she grabbed the flower vase from the small table and threw it at the wall, missing Lancelot, who was quick enough to duck his head, by mere inches. The vase smashed the stone wall, leaving a dark stain of swampy water, and breaking into dozens of pieces. Both, Gwaine and Merlin stepped back, but Gwen didn't care, didn't care that she was not alone with Lancelot, didn't care her silly old neighbor could hear her. Her voice was a border line between a scream and a whimper.

"To hell with that bloody Arthur! It was not about Arthur, has never been, you silly goat! Was it _Arthur_ you've fallen in love with?! Was it _Arthur_ that you would marry?! It was me, it was us, our love, our feeling, you've hurt me, you've left without even saying goodbye and...."

Her voice caught off, but the air seemed to be filling her lungs as though by command and she turned away, not bearing the look of Lancelot.

"You've ruined it! You've ruined it all for me, and for Arthur! He wasn't able to look at me, he felt that I've somehow betrayed his love by... I was about to die there, I was thinking I'd die in that ugly forsaken place, where those pigs were stupid enough to take me for Morgana while they were expecting Uther's ransom! You've helped me, you were ready to save me or die trying, you've kissed me, you..."

"Gwen, Arthur had feelings for you, too!" Lancelot's voice, raised higher, still remained soft. "He was the bloody prince of Camelot!"

_He doesn't understand, he doesn't, a stinking silly goat filled with pride, to hell with him and his bloody honor, he's an idiot if he doesn't understand he's guilty, it's him and..._

"WHY DIDN'T YOU LET _ME_ CHOOSE?!" Gwen turned to face Lancelot, the madness in her voice enough to make her claw at her own hair. " _ME_?! WHY DID YOU TWO JUST MAKE AN AGREEMENT BEHIND MY BACK WHILE I WAS SLEEPING?! WHY HAVE YOU GIVEN ME UP TO ARTHUR AS THOUGH I AM A PIECE OF LAND? A SWORD? I AM NEITHER OBJECT, NOR DO I LOOK LIKE PROPERTY! YOU CAN'T JUST ACT THIS WAY, YOU CAN'T SAY THINGS LIKE: I STEP DOWN, SHE'S YOURS! _I_ SHOULD HAVE DECIDED WHOSE I WAS! I!"

"Gwen, I..."

"OUT! OUT ALL OF YOU!" Gwen shrieked, running out breath, the pain in her stomach clouding her sight. "GET OUT OF MY HOUSE! BLOODY NOW!"

When she shut the door, she threw herself at her bed and started weeping. She didn't know why she was crying; it was not because of Lancelot, of course. The sorrow and fury drained her of the faintest happy thought, and all she could think of was how she had been mistreated. _I couldn't hope to be with Arthur because he was the crown prince and I was too low-born for him, the blacksmith's daughter... And Lancelot decided I was not worth his time once he found out Arthur, the superior prince, had feelings for me.... And then they nearly killed Gaius... The Witchfinder... Morgana was fearing him so much, and I couldn't understand why... Could I be any more stupid? And then she was gone, gone and never going to return again unless..._

***

She woke up from the knock on the door. This time, there was no fear. After all, she realized that Yrien had not arrested her for meeting Gwaine five days ago. _That was not the reason. Gwaine had nothing to do with it. Yrien put Gaius under detention and meant to do the same with me, for she feared I'd tell somebody about poisoning Uther... And when her guards noticed me in the company of a young lad, they reported this fact to her after the arrest.... And she thought it was suspicious. She could have never imagined that Arthur would send a message to me. She thinks I'm a scum, she's been most persistent about it._

Gwen rose to her feet and approached the door, trying not to look in the mirror. _I must be so ugly now, with my eyes red and eyelids so swollen._ She opened the door to see Gwaine, with a bouqet of white flowers behind his back. The dusk was gathering outside, and Gwen realized she must've slept for hours and hours, as the day was drawing to the close. The young night smelled of wet soil, of wildflowers that filled the Lower Town, of cookfires from inns full with those who had come to watch the King's Tourney.

"I've noticed you've broken a vase," Gwaine pointed at the pieces all over the floor behind her back. "I think you're short of one bouqet now and I wanted to make up for it. Might I come in?"

"Gwaine," she cleared her throat. "I'm not feeling..."

"It's not about the bouqet. I've something to tell you, about you know what. Something best discussed in lower voices and behind locked doors, princess."

"I'm no princess," she sighed, letting Gwaine enter.

Broad shouldered and long haired, he walked in confidently and lay the bouqet on the table, a bit clumsy in his attempt to act gallantly.

"Where's Merlin?" Gwen asked him, yawning from being woken too abruply. "He's not with you?"

"Merlin's not to be with us for some time now."

"He's riding to Arthur? To tell Arthur it was I who murdered his father?"

"No, princess. Merlin's destination is more _perilous_. He's acting on Arthur's commands, though. He's taken Lancelot with him."

Gwen frowned. There was clearly something left unsaid beneath the masked honesty of Gwaine's words. _Merlin acting on Arthur's commands? Heading for some perilous destination? Merlin?_

"Why would Merlin be acting on Arthur's command? He is terrible at swordfight and clumsy and noisy."

"He's loyal," Gwaine protested.

"To Arthur," she nodded. "And what of you? Why haven't you joined them for a perilous destination?"

"I've been asked to keep my eye on you. Merlin pleaded me, in fact."

"The last time you tried to keep an eye on me didn't end well. For neither of us. I'm sorry, I didn't mean that," a sense of guilt struck her when she saw Gwaine's expression change to a sad one. "I know that Yrien wanted to arrest me long ago. She probably wanted to have me in the cells the day Uther died. But there was always Gaius in her way, and the day when she arrested Gaius, she was after me. Did Merlin tell you anything about Gaius?"

"He's kept in the Western Tower. Merlin's been there."

"Merlin? Western Tower? How did he manage to sneak into the castle past all those guards?"

"He used to live in the castle, princess. Little rabbit knows his ways, it seems. Anyway, he says Gaius demanded that Merlin let him remain at court. This Gaius of yours believes his position might be of use when things... you know."

"Funny enough, I don't. I know nothing about _things_... Merlin didn't bother to explain. But I'm good at guesswork. I'd be a fool to believe Arthur has accepted the loss of his throne. He has a plan to serve Ryence some vengeance, right? And I might get a taste of that vengeance, too, once Arthur finds out who poisoned his father."

"You're too quick to judge Merlin if you think he'll tell Arthur it was you who poisoned Uther. Merlin doesn't want any harm come to you, that's why he asked me to watch over you. When he comes back, he will tell you everything about Arthur and his father and many more things, I'm sure. And listen, princess, before you object, from what I've just heard, you have all the rights to want to be left alone. And I respect that, but say, twice a day, I'll be coming and knocking on your door just to make sure you're fine. In the morning and in the evening. Before you go to work and..."

"I have no work," Gwen remembered suddenly.

"You don't?"

"I don't. I think Yrien believes that I should not be asking for a place at the new household. I must be grateful I was let to go."

"I have some coins left. I can lend you them 'cause they are not mine. Besides, Merlin has provided me with a job at the Reconstruction of the Lower Town. Won't be working tomorrow, though."

"Why?"

"Tomorrow is the King's Tourney. Nobody works tomorrow."

"Right. I forgot."

_King's Tourney. Celebrating the end of the war that never started._

"So you don't mind me coming twice a day just to make sure you're fine?" Gwaine asked, heading for the door. _It's good he knows his manners and understands I have no need of company now._

"I would be grateful. That's very kind of you," Gwen tried to put on one of those polite smiles she'd been taught to wear at court.

"Just can't stand the thought of someone trying to harm somebody as fragile as you. Good night, princess."

"Thank you. Thank you, Gwaine."

"By the way," he stopped at the threshold. "I was thinking... You want to go to watch King's Tounrey with me?"

"Gwaine, that's very kind of you to ask, but I really don't think I should be getting into Yrien's sight..."

"Forget about her! She won't recognize you out of hundreds of visitors. They say there will be jousting and some fun for the commoners, too. I thought it could take your mind of, you know..."

"That's very kind. We'll talk about it tomorrow, in the morning. When you come to make sure I am fine."

"Sweet dreams, then!" 

Gwen didn't close the door at once. For some time, she kept lingering at the threshold, watching Gwaine's silhouette fade away in the darkness of the night perfumed with wildflowers.


	22. The Pressing Matters

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After leading Camelot's host of 500 men to Brechfa and defeating the "enemy", King Ryence rides to his family castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King Ryence POV 
> 
> Timeline note: This chapter is a sort of flashback; King Ryence arrives at the castle of Brechfa the same day when Merlin stumbles upon Morgana in Greenswood and the same day Gwen is tortured in Yrien's cells.

The rain was falling warm and strong to the joyous glistening of the tranquil land of rich black soil. The multiple rivers in Brechfa were narrow and slow, began like streams in the Western Highs by the White Mountains and ran eastward, lazily, growing wider and stronger on the way. The summer sun would always bring the blue shining out of those small rivers, the rivers that were the true strongholds of Brechfa. Thanks to those rivers, the wheat and corn grew high and there was enough work for fishermen and boatmen as well.

In the plains where multiple rivers and streams would complete their unhurried descent, they grew so wide that they flooded the narrow scratches of land that separated them and formed a single river the Romans used to call Fulgeo. The rushing river carried on eastwards, and in the land of green plains and flowered meadows it crossed the Gedref road, and the castle of Brechfa was rising at the crossing of the road and the river.

The castle of Brechfa, however, was not a _castle_ by the standars of the lords and ladies of the Camelot territories. Nothing linked the castle of Brechfa to the grandeur of the nine-towered castle of Camelot, a beast of stone and magic conjured centuries ago by Sigan, the greatest sorcerer to ever walk the land. Nor did it take after the low fat castle of Asgorath, whose construction took generations of Western architects that failed to master the secret of multi-storey buildings and produced an immense construction that nested on five hills and wrapped them into a labyrinth of bleak white walls and low watchtowers. The castle of Nemeton, a miracle of murky granite walls carved into a mountain peak, would dwarf the castle of Brechfa, too, and so would the splendid and ancient castle of Gedref that was clawing at the islands of a rocky coastland, a pearl gifted to the Seaside Kingdom by mermaids, as the legend said.

There were unfortunate castles as well: the castle of Denaria was mocked as "Toad Pit", for it looked like a watchtower sinking in the swampy terrains of Denaria plains, and the castle of Daobeth that was meant to replace the burnt ruins of Old Daobeth, was called a "Broken Tooth", for it had many fallen towers and decaying walls, since the secrets of ancient Daobethian architects were lost when the dragons unleashed their fiery rage at the capital of the Western Kingdom centuries ago. Not many people could tell how the Ascetir castle looked, for so deep in the wood was it hidden that smallfolk were often too afraid to travel so deep into the thicket.

There was no castle in Brechfa. The settlement was cresting the high hill, on top of which the lord's house was nesting, with the watchtower and a smaller house for the household servants. At the foot of the hill, the guards' barracks were positioned, behind the high wall built to separate the hill from other noble lords' and ladies' houses. The noble lords and ladies built a wall, too, to separate their houses form the commoners' area, with watchtowers around the perimeter. The commoners area was stretching between the nobles' wall and the river.

Nor was the castle of Brechfa the biggest castle in its territory: it housed four thousand people, while Chemary housed more than six thousand and Woodspeak another five thousand people. But it was the home of Ryence's heart, and he felt nothing but tired joy when he saw the wooden bridge over Fulgeo. He had passed many fields of wheat and corn, ripening in the summer heat and the generous rain, he had passed villages with ramshackle and new houses, and when the town came into view, the cluster of hundreds of earthen brown houses with shingled wooden roofs, horse yards fenced with high hedges, and the lord's house sitting on a sharp rise to the north, Ryence smiled. Many houses and inns were built over the river water on heavy wooden pilings, and the fisher's docks were reaching like wooden fingers into the water.

His party of two dozen men seemed to be happy about the town as well. King Ryence had led five hundred and twelve men of Howden host to war. It could have been a tough fight, for Alined had sent the same number of mercenaries into Brechfa, but what Ryence had seen only strenghtened one of the greatest truths about war and warriors: _there is a limit to courage when people fight for gold_. Alined's mercenaries didn't put on a decent fight, they couldn't form up and keep the lines and even though they had been warned and were anticipating Ryence's attack, and they had to retreat after hours of fighting. By the end of the first battle day, Camelot's army, led by Sir Leon, was chasing Aline'd mercenaries, reaching as far as the castle of Chemary at the old Roman road on the border with Isgaard. _If the mercenaries do as Cynric promised they would, and if they have any wits about them, they will hide in the mountains of Isgaard; to our soldiers it will look as though the enemies, Cenred's soldiers, are running back to Essetir, defeated. In fact, they will wait and go back to Deorham, to where they came from._

Camelot soldiers were fighting with all the fierceness of the brave hearts, young bodies and restless minds that were promised gold, glory and girls for their good service to the new king. Many of them could have been trained better, but they didn't disappoint Ryence who had been to so many battles he had lost count. The discipline among Uther's knights was above any praise; not only did they occupy the first row in every legion, leading the green lads into battle and inspiring their courage by own example, but they also never forgot about their commanding duties, about keeping the lines and choosing pace, pressing the attack or regrouping the legions.

Not a war passed without losses, and Ryence was happy to learn the dead were not too many to count: the first two legions, expectedly, lost the most men. Twenty-two soldiers of the first two legions died when the fighting commenced, more than in the other six legions taken together. Ryence had positioned four legions in the castle of Chemary, and ordered two legions to move to the castle of Woodspeak and one legion to move to the castle of Brechfa on the following day.

"Must be three leagues to the bridge, your grace," Sir Leon said. Warm rain was lashing at his face as he spurred his horse.

"It's less than that. You'll have comfortable chambers and hot meals soon, my lords, I will see to that," Ryence said, urging his horse forward.

"You're too kind, your grace."

The afteroon sky was frowning, streaked by the thin grey rainclouds, but the vague silhouette of sun was to the left of them. Two dozen men were galopping at Ryence's side, the guards that swore to protect their king. Ryence ought to feel safe, but he could not. He was not fearing for himself, but rather for the fruits of his plans. It was that vague silhouette of sun to the _West_ that was troubling him. It was the sunset land on his mind _._

_Will Accolon do what I commanded? Is he as stiff as he seems? Or is there nobody Vyda will talk to excpet for me? She has nobody in the West to defy her, that's true. Catigern is sixty eight years old, I bloody bet he knows nothing about what's happening in the kingdom and cares more about hunting than about ruling. And Vyda is too proud to treat Galla Dindrane as her equal. Vyda had always disregarded Denaria, after all. Vyda has always behaved as though the castle of Daobeth were still the seat of Mountain Land's throne. Where the bloody hell has she been for the past thirty-two years? I don't mind she reclaims the throne of Mountain Land, but Goddess knows the land's as poor as the winter's harvest. Asgorath is in debt to the castle of Camelot and the castle of Camelot is in debt to me. After Vyda calls herself queen and satisfies her long-offended sense of pride, she will realize she rules over two hundred thousand poor people who don't have enough grain and wine. With two thousand swords at her command, I know where she'll try to look for gold. I remember the lessons of Uther's conquest well._

The smallfolk gathered to greet their king even though the rain was strong enough to drive them all under the roofs. _They are happy I bring no ill news about our harvest put to fire. For them, it means the summer is again beautiful and the life is free of worries. As soon as my land stops paying for the debts of other territories, I will be as happy as my people._ Ryence would raise his hand to the roaring cheer of the crowd when he entered the settlement through the gatehouse. He left Sir Leon and the other knights in the noble's inn for a royal dinner, and rode alone through the gates in the high stone wall that was wrapped around the hill. To his own dismay, he once again learnt he was getting much too old for climbing the steps of the hill. _Maybe Yrien is right and I should move to the noble's area, after all._

His servants congratulated him on the victory and rushed to accompany him to the feast hall of his house. It was a long wooden and drafty room, with rows of wooden kegs filled with mead at one end and a giant fireplace at the other. The timbered walls of feasting hall were rough-hewn, rising higher than in any room in Camelot. _High and spacious and free_. Ryence loved to watch his meat roasting in the giant fireplace. Returning to Brechfa, to his beautiful house which looked like a luxurious hunter's hut was like a taste of cool fresh rainwater after the sickening suffocating walls of the castle of Camelot. Here, Ryence didn't fear he'd be overheard, and he knew nobody would spy on him, for there was nobody in the house except for the kitchen maids and three of his servants. All the guards were kept at the foot of the hill. There could be nothing more pleasant than that hall with warm fire and the smell of roasted meat that made Ryence's mouth water. The servants did everything to please their king: he was served fresh-baked bread with hard cheese, and there were roasted chickens, ducks and pigeons, and ribs with garlic and herbs, and a pork pie, and mead, wine and ale and everything Ryence could wish for after a long ride.

He enjoyed supping alone, without the need to eat elegantly, as Yrien put, and watch that he doesn't open his mouth too wide. _That damn Camelot castle is so clean it may seem people don't fart in there_ , Ryence thought of Camelot. _Why can't the kingdom's capital be moved to Brechfa?_ He smiled, for he knew it could never be more than a wild fantasy.

After finishing the pork pie and refusing the wild strawberry tart, Ryence was drunk on pleasure and on the opportunity to have some good ale after dinner. He smiled, thinking of what Yrien would've said. _She thinks ale is the peasant's drink._

"My lord, a visitor begs to see you," the servant's voice was weak and guilty. _They know I don't like to be disturbed here._

"A visitor? Who?"

"Lord Cynric, the Royal Treasurer."

_Bloody hell. This man will find me everywhere._

"Let him in."

It took lord Cynric some time to appear; the climb of the Bear's Hill had never been fast even for the young lads. He was wearing a blue linen tunic with puffed sleeves, and a grey cloak that had turned greyer from rain.

"There seems to be nowhere to hide from your curious eye, lord Cynric," Ryence greeted him with a nodd, watching the man bow down as the protocol demanded. "Neither in the castles nor at the battlefields."

"Your grace. I come out of urgent news," Cynric said as he seated himself.

"News? What's that? Vyda?"

"No, my lord. Although I'm sure the seals from the west would arrive sooner had you signed the decree your sister proposes..."

"A decree? Interesting. You do have a copy with you, I am sure. Now give me the look."

Cynric handed him the roll of crisp white parchment sealed with wax.

"His royal majesty.... Rynce of House Gingawaine...the castle of Gedref and all its incomes and hunting territories.... to Lord Hector of House Cynric who is willing to pay.... Right. What was her reaction?"

Cynric's eyes flicked to Yrien's letter on the table.

"Your sister doesn't seem to suspect anything. In point of fact, Lady Yrien was so happy I offered more money than Anna Dindrane that she was the most joyous I've seen her since she arrived at Camelot."

Ryence's mouth twisted in pleasant smile.

"Yrien doesn't seem to be fond of Lady Dindrane, so much is true," the king said, recalling all the poetic names Yrien had used to describe Lady Dindrane. "That old bat" was the least offensive of them all. "Was she fond of _you_ buying the lordship over the castle of Gedref, though?"

"Not too fond, Cynric scowled. "She said that I had to discuss the lordship decree with you in person, for only the king can determine who will ultimately be named Lord or Lady of Gedref. Even though you've left her your seal, she wouldn't make the decision."

"She proceeds cautiously when handling the fate of one of the greatest castles in the kingdom, can't blame her for that, ha? So? I will write her a letter and sign the decree. She'll seal it. The Castle of Gedref is yours. What other news do you bring me?"

"Are we alone?"

"Most certainly."

Cynric stroked his pointed beard; whatever he was to announce made him uncomfortable.

"My... men have searched the forests of Brechfa and found the body of Aglovale of House Meirchion."

"Sigma's son?"

"Indeed. Somebody burried him. And I can bet my new castle it's not the sort of kindness to expect from the assassins."

Ryence was giving Cynric a stoney stare.

"It is not," the king nodded.

"My men have also managed to locate one of the assassins that survived. He was hiding, for he certainly broke the terms of our agreement."

"Is he..."

"He is dead already," Cyrnic assured him negligently. "But before his death, he had shared strange stories with us. He tried to convince us prince Arthur was _protected with magic_ when he was attacked in the forest of Brechfa. He said he could swear on his mother's life that there was a _sorcerer_ among his knights."

"A sorcerer?" Ryence's voice was ice." A sorcerer protecting _Arthur_? Uther's son?"

It was easier to believe that dogs could talk.

"Your grace, how else would you explain the circumstances of the assassins' deaths? Do you want me to believe the group we've sent... That they all had shot each other simultaneously and died? Do you want me to believe Arthur and his knights had four pairs of arms each? To hold eight crossbows at a time?"

"No, I don't. What do _you_ want me to believe, then? That either Owaine or that Pellinore boy is a sorcerer?"

"My lord, the failed assassination made me look at prince Arthur in a new way. Strangely, most of the things you've used to blacken his name are partly true. Arthur indeed has escaped deaths so many times it seems somebody is watching over him."

"A sorcerer protecting Arthur? Impossible!" Ryence said with distaste. "Impossible!"

"This sorcerer, if exists, would love us to think this way."

Ryence's neck suddenly got rigid with tension. He was so scared for a moment that he though he'd best not speak, so that his voice didn't betray his fear.

"What will you have me do now, lord Cynric? I have naught to fear from Arthur. The smallfolk tremble at the mention of his name, and nurses scare children with stories about the Wraith of Camelot. He is no longer the Dragonslayer he used to be. Besides, even if Owaine and Modron survived... The castle of Gedref is now _yours_ by rights, and the territory of Nemeton would never be stupid to rebel against the king. Raising a thousand swords would _exhaust_ Nemeton, while Camelot alone can raise, arm and train five hundred men in less than a month. Besides, Lady Gedref and Lord Pellinore are in Camelot, as well as Lord Ragnell of Balor. If Artur lives and tries to go to Nemeton while there are two thousand ready swords at the disposal of his father's aunt, the lad has lost his wits. We would be wise to send some patrols searching Nemeton and Gedref for a wraith, though. To protect the people. Now, what troubles you, my lord? That Arthur may have a sorcerer on his side? Sorcerers don't win wars."

"We don't know _what_ sorcerers can or can't do."

"And who knows?"

"Gaius," Cynric sighed, as though he hated himself for saying it. "The old man is a sorcerer himself, even though he had never practiced magic under Uther's reign. However, he may not live long enough to share his knowledge with us, as he enjoys your sister's hospitality."

"What did Yrien do to him?"

"Imprisoned him, I guess. Three days ago, when she got the news about the druids."

"What news of the druids?"

"Merchants report druids are seen at the Mercian road in great numbers. Yrien thinks Anna Dindrane has something to do with it, and Gaius, and that serving girl of his."

"Has she imprisoned Anna Dindrane, too?" Ryence asked impatiently, praying she had not. _Leaving Yrien in charge was folly. I ought to have left my seal to Cynric._

"No. But Lady Dindrane is watched day and night, and your sister hopes to replace Anna's servants with her own."

"Bloody hell!" Ryence roared as he rose to his feet and walked to fireplace to warm his hands that suddenly went cold. "Why is Yrien acting as though it's she who's ruling over the land? I swear, the sooner I send her back to Brechfa... Go back and give her the Gedref decree with my signature. See that she seals it. See that she doesn't harm the physician before I get the chance to talk to him. And that serving girl of his, we must not let her die so quickly, it may just stir Dindrane's suspicions. If Arthur has magic assistance, we must learn it and expose it. The more magic tales are told about Arthur, the more the commoners will fear him. Now, Cynric, I've done everything you've asked for. The Treaty of the Five Kings has been renounced. Lady Caelia has been appointed as the Councilor of Trade. The Castle of Gedref is yours. If I don't get the seals from the West in ten days, need I explain to you what happens to your head?"

"The Western seals will be yours in less than ten days, your grace," Cynric promised in the most reassuring tone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter is "Whatever the Cost", it's Morgana POV and I'll publish it tomorrow :)
> 
> Thanks for staying tuned! <3


	23. Whatever the Cost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgause invites Morgana to the private Triskelion gathering to take part in discussing the future of the druids.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV
> 
> timeline note: on this day, Merlin wakes up at the inn in the Southern Village and is about to go out and look for Gaius. King Ryence is still in Brechfa, but he is expected to return any day.

The night served some tormenting dreams to her. She saw the great wasteland of orange land, the land burnt to ashes by the violent sunlight. The black wings of Wyverns were swaying in the fiery sky, their terrifying beastly shrieks piercing through the wasteland. A heavy air of doom hang above the land, and Merlin was rising, as if out of that doom, and he was laughing, smiling, happy that he had the power to hurt her again. She had woken up several times, only to find Morgause sleeping next to her in the homely darkness of the tent.

In the morning Morgana opened her eyes, feeling unwell, the way she usually did after long nights filled with visions of horror. She couldn't understand why Morgause's bracelet was not working, and she had no idea about why the visions of Merlin were linked with the visions of Wyverns in her dreams. She wanted to ask Gwen to fetch some water for her bath...

Suddenly, she sat down in her tent, alone. _Gwen_. It was the first time she remembered the name of her servant since she departed the crystal cave. Gwen's expression, with humble and sincerely caring smile, was soaring in her mind to replace the heavy scenes of Merlin and those creatures. Suddenly, she felt she was missing Gwen's attitude, Gwen's presence and her willingness to help her and her sincere support against the mean court. _Gwen was always kind to me, even though the court was not enthusiastic about her… Even though Uther's guards killed her father. I wonder if the poor girl was offered a different position after all the events. Has she been admitted to the royal household of the new king? Does she miss me, too?_

She crawled out of her tent, wondering what Morgause was up to. Morgana felt as free as a bird when she stepped out onto the grass and looked around at the camp encircled by a thick stand of yews and oaks, with the greenest wealth of rustling trees clinging to the strong branches. The green of the grass and the shining gems of the wildflowers looked festive when the solemn grey of the sky was lasting above the tree tops.

Gontha, who was talking to her daughter, smiled at her.

"Good morning, Morgana," she waved her hand.

"Morning. Gontha, I was... wondering if I could ask for a bath anywhere?"

"Bath?” Gontha laughed as though Morgana had just told a witty joke. “We're in the woods, there are no bathtubs here, I'm afraid."

"How do you wash then?"

"We wash in the river," Gontha's daughter laughed. "You're so tall, how can't you know such simple things? Everybody knows."

"In the river? But what if somebody _sees_?" Morgana wondered casually.

"Men wash first, women after them," Gontha explained. "We take turns."

"Have men washed already?"

"Of course. Morgana, it's near noon. Everybody has washed."

_Noon? Have I slept for so long?_

"Have you seen my sister?"

"She must be in the Triskelion pavilion. Do you want me..."

"No. I will go there myself after I wash... in the river."

Morgana loved the way the shades of the forest changed with every shift of light; it made the forest look like a living thing which had its own mood. She was walking to the faint blue-green shimmer of the river, the river which, as she had learnt yesterday, was serving as some magic shield against the swords that meant to hurt the druids. _How could somebody enchant the whole river, though?_ The heavy rainclouds were passing before the sun, darkening the pale waters to the stone-grey shades.

Morgana looked around to make sure nobody was there by accident. She recalled the day when she was made to bathe in the cold stream, when she and Gwen were abducted by the group of bandits, who intended to make Uther pay a generous ransom for her. _The filthy pigs without a shred of honor. To think that armed men would try and hurt women... Well, I would've gladly showed them a woman had they been brave enough to give me a sword. I'd cut them all, they were as far from the art of swordfight as anybody._

She took her sleeping gown off and stepped into the cool water, this time without fear, and let her feet adjust to the stinging chill of the current. She bent down and washed her feet and her legs and stepped deeper into the river. Without the potion of Morgause, her body felt the same it had felt before: there was pain, and tension in the muscles, and her stomach was singing songs of hunger, and the smell from her mouth was the one she'd try to mask with lemon water. She enjoyed it, though, enjoyed being as free as a wandering girl, with the water of the river and the forest around her. The bird's songs in the wind inspired her to dream big, to dream of the kingdom where freedom and justice will be for all to share. She closed her eyes.

"Lady Morgana!" the voice boomed from behind her back.  

Morgana turned around and tried to cover her nakedness. Alvarr’s chunky figure was on the river bank.

"Alvarr! Goddess, turn away, Alvarr! I am naked as a..."

"I am not watching, my lady, I most certainly am not," he shouted, with his hand covering his face to let her now he wasn’t watching. _He isn't trying too hard, though. "_ Your sister demands your presence at the Triskelion pavilion, and she will skin me alive if I tell her you've gone to the river alone!"

Morgana ran to the river bank and slipped into her black gown, not caring to let herself dry after the natural bath. Her skin got covered with goosebumps and the chill ran up her spine. Suddenly, the confusion from being spotted by Alvarr was gone, replaced by a different feeling that made her mouth twist in a delightful smile. She fancied the idea of him watching her in the river, free of her black gown. She fancied the idea that he couldn't take his eyes off her, and kept staring at how the drops of water were running down the curved lines of her body. She remembered the days when she was at court, so proud of her secret friendship with Alvarr. _All those stupid hens said he was a sworn enemy to the crown, a renegade, but I couldn't stop the way I was feeling, he won my heart when he said... When he said magic was not a crime, it was a gift. He said he wished to walk free and without fear._

“I am sorry again,” Alvarr repeated. “But I best not make your sister wait, Goddess knows she _can_ be cruel.”  

Morgana looked at him and smiled at his honesty. She grabbed him by the arm to let him escort her to the Triskelion pavilion. Alvarr gave her a faint smile, but in his eyes was the gleam of desire.

"Why would you say such a thing about my sister?" she asked as they started walking back to the camp.

"Because the woods are not safe, my lady. The river keeps us safe from mortal blades, aye, but there are often other ways to hurt a man or a woman. You ought not be wandering in the forests alone, Morgause is right. If she learns…"

"Don't tell her, Alvarr," Morgana smiled. “Please.”  

"I would best not. I'm the last man in the wide world who'd wish to taste the wrath of a High Priestess. But to make sure you're safe, will you bid me the honor of guarding you from this day forth?"

Morgana flushed, and held him tight. She loved the way he was flirting with her, his manner was decisive yet not too obvious, far from the empty gallant compliments of the stupid knights at Camelot's court. _Personal guard. And what would your duties be?_

"Honor? What's honorable about guarding me? You’re but a proud and famous enemy of Camelot’s throne, and I am but a simple girl now," she reminded him with a smirk.  

"A girl, but not so simple. You're Lady Morgana of House Gorlois, your mother was a sister of the dragonlord. The druids will worship you soon."

 _Worship_. She didn't mind the newfound admiration from the people she neither knew nor understood, and the idea that somebody would admire her out of love rather than out of protocol and fear seemed promising. The druids were the only people who had been truly kind to her when she found out about her magic. _Funny it was Merlin who sent me to them. I nearly died on the way, though. Did he mean it? Did he want me to die on the way, while searching for the druid camp?_

"Aren't there other... people with relation to dragonlords? Am I the only one? Anna Dindrane was mentioned yesterday..."

"She's loved by the druid folk, and she's been helping us greatly, but she's a different story. She is more distantly related, see. When the Battle of Ashes took three dragonlords from the druids, the dragonlord families remained. Winybolt was survived by his sister, Vivienne."

"My mother," Morgana said gently, with a sad smile on her face. _I need to talk to Morgause about her. I want to learn as much as I can about her._

"Prince Darian was survived by his wife Elsa, his son Dorin and his daughter Gabryss. The third dragonlord, Dracos, was survived by his son Thulin and his sister Isma. But they are all dead now."

"How did they all die?" Morgana asked, even though she probably could foretell the answer. _Whenever people related to magic died, there was usually someone's hand involved. Uther. The bloody tyrant._

"Not a happy death, if you paid attention to Ruadan yesterday," Alvarr sighed. "They all lived peacefully for ten years following Uther's Conquest, I dare say they all felt safe, for Balinor and his dragon were free... However, after the Purge began and Balinor's dragon was captured, the remnants of the dragonlord families tried to overthrow Uther. Thulin, son of Dracos, was a man by that time, twenty-six years old. He and Elsa, Prince Darian's widow, were the masterminds of the scheme. However, when they failed..."

"Why did they fail?"

"They were stupid to trust Sewyll Accolon, grandson of Queen Andor. He was Uther's commander of the knights at the time of the Purge, and they sought the help of the knights. Sewyll Accolon double-crossed them and reported their plot to Uther. He begged the king to be merciful, though, since no treason was actually committed. Uther's mercy was sharp, so sharp both, Thulin and Elsa lost their heads."

The news, although of the past, engulfed Morgana's heart and mind into the fire of hatred that couldn't be compared to anything she had previously felt.

"Uther was an ugly creature, more ugly than the troll he once married. What of others?"

"Truth be told, Uther thought he'd best get rid of all the members of the druid dynasty save for the girs married to his warlords. And so he did. He came for Gabryss, the daughter of prince Darian, and for her husband and three of her children. He accused them of sorcery and treason, and burnt them alive. Didn't go well with the crowd, though, and some go so far as to say there were riots after the execution. That's why he ordered to drown Dorin, prince Darian's son, silently in the inner yard's well rather than staging another public execution. They fished his body out of the well the next morning, it was swollen and green, and nobody knows where he was burried. Some say Uther fed his body to the hunting hounds."

_If so, Uther's tomb needs be broken and his own body needs to be fed to the wolves._

"What of Isma? Sister of Dracos?"

"She escaped. Or so people want to believe. Truth is, we know she was sentenced to die, Isma and her son Thomas and his wife Hamelia. But they all disappeared, they say. Others say they were murdered in secret."

Morgana was walking through the rows of tents, a lot less peopled than the previous evening. Some druids were out there in the woods, hunting; women were gathering wild berries and children were with grandfathers and grandmothers who were doing their best to teach the youth whatever they thought was wroth passing to the younger generation. Driven to the forests by the permanent threat of Uther's wrath that would follow them, they couldn't even build proper houses and condemned themselves to living in the forests like some animals. Uther was to blame, however, there remained one thought that was lingering in her mind, the thought she hadn't been brave enough to voice until she heard that Uther could've murdred a whole family in secret, afraid of the street riots. The Triskelion pavilion was raised behind the uprooted tree, a large tent of dirty dusty brown cloth.

"They all watched," Morgana whispered. "Other people in Camelot. They watched Elsa and Thulin beheaded, and watched Gabryss and her husband and three of her children roasted, and they did nothing. Nobody objected to that. They must pay for it, too."

"And pay they will," Alvarr nodded. "The question, my lady, is the following: who ought to pay? Uther's dead, and so are many who were to blame for the Purge."

***

The pavilion looked even more modest inside than outside. Chairs were put onto warm black soil, and there were two tables: one for the council and one with the papers and maps. For the first time since arriving at the druid's camp, Morgana began to worry. _How are these poor and frightened people going to lift the ban on magic? They don't even have gold to buy a proper pavilion, not to mention the swords and shields._

In the middle of the room, blue fire was dancing on the ground, a magic one, for it was burning without wood. It was blue and cold, meant to illuminate the tent. Morgause was standing by the map table, inspecting some papers. Lochru, the old toothless man, was seated in a chair, eyeing the magic fire distrustingly, and Ruadan was talking to Finna. When Morgana entered the tent, Morgause raised her head and emitted a sigh of relief.

"Morgana. I was beginning to worry."

"I'm sorry," Morgana replied. "I slept for too long, and I was looking for something to break my fast. Lord Ruadan. Lord Lochru. Lady Finna."

"Oh, sweet child," Lochru faked a sweet innocent smile. "We don't use titles here. There's no nobility among the druids. Anyone can rule and anyone can judge, haven't your sister told you _that_ much?"

"My apologies, Lochru," Morgause snapped as she went to take her seat beside the table, grabbing some papers. "I barely had time to teach my sister the courtesies of the druids' ways in between wasting all my magic powers to heal her from the poison of hemlock."

The awkward silence hang in the room; Finna's expression suggested she would've gladly told off both, Morgause and Lochru, but Ruadan dissuaded her with a gesture of his hand that read " _let it be, you can't help here._ "

"We best commence," Ruadan invited Morgana, Finna and Alvarr to the table. "Morgana, we've summoned you because your sister asked us to. She says you have the right to take part in the discussion if you have a part to play, which sounds fair to me."

"The gathering should be honored to welcome the niece of the dragonlord," Finna smiled.

"I will be honored," Morgana paid back.

"Good. Shall we begin then?" Rudan seated himself next Morgause. "Alvarr, bloody take that seat. News of Ryence?"

"The king's victorious," Alvarr's tone was dry of emotion. "He will be back to Camelot any day, and the commoners are massing to meet their _protector_. There will be a king's tourney in Camelot."

"And what are the news of the West? Of Accolon?" Morgause wondered.

"Anna Dindrane reports that Vidor, grandson of Vyda Gaheris has arrived to Camelot for tourney, but brought no seals from the West. He did bring something else."

"What?"

"A proposal. He intends to marry Ewina Sagramore, the daughter of the King's Secretary."

"And can we trust Anna?" Morgause inquired, not intending to offend anybody. "In such matters as..."

"Anna has been funding Alvarr campaigns for many years."

"How curious," Morgause smiled. "That would explain why you are in dire need of gold."

"We are in dire need of gold because the hiding place we used suffered," Alvarr snapped.

"Suffered? How?" Morgause didn't seem to be surprised.

"We used a cave in the forsaken forest in Ascetir, a safe cave, for Uther's dogs would never come across that place, it was a perfect place to store gold. The forest is deep and easy to hide in."

"Then how did such a perfect hideaway suffer?"

"Some troll sniffed the smell of gold, I guess," Alvarr shrugged. "The last time I came there, I saw the cave's entrance burried beneath the rocks, and the rotting troll's body on the ground."

Morgana noticed her sister's fingers knock on the table in a nervous manner. _She is not pleased._

"Do you mean to tell me your campaign lost all its gold to a _troll_?"

"How was I supposed to know the troll would..."

"The troll's are attracted to gold the way wolves are attracted to the smell of bare flesh. Oh, Alvarr..."

"Maybe you'd be so kind as to lend us your coins, priestess?" Lochru jumped in to protect Alvarr.

"I have no coins. I don't need coins. But you do. You will need swords, shields, bows, spears, armors, horses... Somebody must _pay_ for that," Morgause reminded them, and Morgana felt the heavy irony of the druid leaders discussing the matters of gold in the poorest council pavilion one could imagine.

"I am afraid there is no opportunity to find that much gold in that little time, Morgause," Finna tried to reason. "The merchants of Catha can be of use, however... Delivering gold will take time..."

"Which we don't have," Morgause nodded. "Ryence is going back to Camelot. And Vidor Gaheris wants to marry Ewina Sagramore. You do understand that Vyda Gaheris will not be very enthusiastic about our intention to lift the ban on magic?"

"Enthusiastic?" Ruadan barked out a nervous laughter. "She's a _westerner_. Her husband was Prince of the Mountain Kingdom before Uther's conquest. Of course she won't be enthusiastic, to say the least. Some say she is as mad as Uther and would never talk to Uther while Nimueh was at his court. If we dare lift the ban on magic, she will rain her fury on us. The West is powerful. They may not be rich, but that's worse. They have an army, and rich neighbors, and the hatred towards magic is sewn into their skin and poured into their blood with mother's milk. Ever since the day dragons set Daobeth on fire they hate everything magical."

"They hate everything magical," Morgause repeated in a dark voice. "And you do understand that if King Ryence and Vyda Gaheris united in their hatred towards magic, they would be undefeatable? No force would bring down the West _and_ Brechfa."

"What do you suggest? To tell our people to go back to hiding in the woods?"

"No. If we can't defeat them together, we must make sure they fall apart and defeat them one by one."

Morgana felt the situation was tragic. The druids were brave enough to gather after Uther's death and to call on the representatives of all the major tribes to attend the gathering. They were hoping they would manage to capture the castle of Camelot, and they were hoping that upon hearing that, Lord Accolon, in his pursuit to atone for the sins of his past, would take two thousand western swords and end Ryence's defiance before it even started. Morgause had a gift of breathing common sense into the glorious fantasies of the druids who had neither gold nor enough weapons and men to make a full army. _How many druids are there in Camelot, I wonder?_

"How do you suggest we do it?" Lochru, battling his determination not to talk to Morgause, was the first to ask the question. "How do we make Ryence and the West fall apart and defeat them one by one?"

"We raise a rebellion," Morgause's eyes were gleaming. "We speak loud about it, so that all the kingdom hears. So long as the magic of Andor protects you from mortal blades, you will suffer no harm here."

"We have too few armed men for a rebellion, Morgause. We were better at riots and attacking king's patrols," Alvarr protested.

"Time for that is over. You _will_ start the rebellion, and I will bring the army to support us."

"Cenred?" Lochru guessed.

"King Cenred," Morgause felt the need to correct the toothless man. "King of Essetir."

"Cenred is..."

"...the king who welcomed the druid refugees when they fled Camelot during the Great Purge. Thanks to Cenred, the druids had the chance to survive and dwell peacefully in the forests of Essetir. That's what you wanted to say, Lochru?" Morgause was breathing heavily.

"He's all that, but let's not mistake indifference for kindness and compassion," Lochru stood up. "Cenred didn't care about the druids. He didn't help us, he just let us in. We've come to the least populated lands of Essetir and he just didn't bother to throw us back to Camelot. He's not the noble king you've just described."

"Noble or not, he ows me some old debts," Morgause smiled. "Most importantly, he has the army."

"The army defeated in Brechfa, aye," Lochru smirked.

"Cenred was never in Brechfa."

"Then who was King Ryence fightng?"

"That is the most interesting question. Who, indeed? And was he fighting somebody at all?" Morgause's smile grew wider.

"We have no time for your games, priestess."

"Nobody has," she nodded. "Time for games is past us. I urge you do as I say. Start the rebellion, and I will make Cenred agree to lend us five thousand swords."

The silence that fell was heavy. _Five thousands swords. That's a full army. That's a giant army._

"Five thousand swords would not be enough against Vyda Gaheris _and_ King Ryence," Ruadan remarked.

"I will make sure they don't fight on one side."

"How?" Ruadan pressed the point.

"If Vidor were to die while a guest in Camelot, that would certainly make Vyda furious and longing for revenge," Morgause eyes were fixed on Morgana.

"Vidor is a young boy," Finna said, looking horrified by the proposal.

"Vidor is a _knight,"_ Morgause said stubbornly _._ "A man of twenty-one, grown and seasoned. He was among those who raided the camp when Morgana went to the druids and among those who fought against Alvarr's renegades. He left Camelot and rode to his family's castle in Daobeth after the first night of dragon's attack, which is easy to understand - Daobeth, of all castles, remembers the sorrow brought by dragonflames. He didn't take part in the purge, though, so much is true. Morgana, you've had the chance to meet him, I presume?"

Morgana cleared her throat when offered the first chance to speak at the meeting.

"I did."

"And what would you tell us of Sir Vidor?"

"He is as old as Arthur, maybe one year younger. They didn't seem close. Vidor is... brave and strong. Ever gallant. But with no sense of humour and I've never seen him smile or heard that he'd got drunk with other knights. That's all I know," she said honestly.

"You think the boy deserves to die?" Finna asked her.

Morgana felt as though the hilt of axe was in her hand, and the prisoner, awaiting her execution, right by her side - even though Vidor was in Camelot, safe behind the thick walls of the ancient castle. She didn't like him, had no reason to like him, yet there was something in her heart that suggested that killing people out of mere dislike was not right. Vidor was in no way responsible for the purge. However, his grandmother could take part in prosecuting sorcerers in the West. Morgana glanced at Alvarr who, too, seemed to be studying her face, and when their eyes met, she recalled everything he had told her on the way to the Triskelion pavilion. _Thulin and Elsa beheaded. Gabryss and her husband and her children burnt alive. Dorin drowned in the backyard's well. Isma, Thomas and his wife probably killed in secret. There was that feeling in her chest again, that felling which swept her heart away when she heard the story about how Uther reacted to the Andor plot to overthrow him._

"Hundreds of innocent sorcerers have died during the Purge," Morgana said. "They've burnt and drowned children, they've burnt Gabryss alive just because she was Prince Darian's daughter! I don't see why a single man from their side, however young and innocent, can't suffer the fate Uther granted to hundreds of drudis. Would that I could make it all bloodless..."

"If Vidor were to die in the castle of Camelot..." Ruadan stroke his chin. "His grandmother has two thousand swords at her command. She will be quick and strike soon."

"Which means we must not kill Vidor before Cenred's army is here," Morgause concluded. "Once Vyda learns that her precious grandson is murdered in Camelot, her hosts will start moving Camelot's way, and that's when we come and offer King Ryence a helping hand. On the condition he lifts the ban on magic, of course. If he agrees, we help him smash Vyda's army. If he doesn't, we watch Ryence and Vyda at each other's throats and smash whoever survives that war. We would be wise to ask for a marriage pact, too."

"Between Rion and me?" Morgana's voice betrayed discontent.

"Yes, sister. That would make you Queen of Camelot."

Morgana wasn't charmed by that prospect. _I've been to court and I know how kings and queens live. There is no freedom in that life._

"I heard Rion's mother is vicious," Alvarr remarked.

"No more vicious than I am," Morgause said. "If you don't want to bed this Rion, Morgana, you won't have to. I will teach you spells that would keep him out of your chambers at night. I will make sure Ryence won't ever think of harming you."

"I can't be queen. I... Morgause, I don't want to return to that castle. To that place, to the court, to all those... I..."

"The court can be different under your reign, sister."

"I... "

"If Lady Morgana doesn't want to marry, we can ask for a marriage pact between Rion and Anna Dindrane's granddaughter," Alvarr said.

"We can," Finna was quick to point.

"That would serve, too," Lochru nodded.

Morgause's look was grim, but it was clear that the matter of Morgana's betrothal to Rion was something she'd best discuss with her sister alone. Morgana feared that discussion more than she feared the coming war.

"Must we start a _war_ if we want to lift the magic ban?" Morgana asked innocently.

"And how else do you propose to lift the magic ban?" Ruadan asked, admiring her innocence. "By coming to Ryence's court and petitioning? Asking humbly? Morgana, neither Ryence nor Vyda would agree to lift the magic ban. They have armies to make sure it never happens. We must act on the biggest scale possible, whatever the cost. Such chances are rare. We don't want the druids of all the generations to come suffer the same fate we've suffered."

Morgana remembered the little girl she'd met yesterday by the cookfire, the girl who had been taught to never tell anbybody she had magic because bad people might take her away to the dungeons and torture and kill her. She didn't want this sort of life for the druids to come. _If it's war... then it's war. The good thing is that we will only fight soldiers and knights and will not harm the smallfolk, will not set villages and fields on fire and will not kill women and children._

“How long will it take Cenred to assemble his forces?” Ruadan asked.

“He’s been assembling his forces since Uther started to prepare for the new war with Essetir. Cenred didn’t mean to attack, he was suspecting Uther would want to start a war after their truce expired. However, five thousand swords… No less than two weeks, I am afraid. It may take more. In the meantime, you must prepare the camp for the army. I suggest you used Idirsholas - it's a good castle, I can't believe people hadn't used it because of the superstitions. And Alvarr, you will need food to feed Cenred’s soldiers, and I don’t care where you get it from. Grow it, if need be. Steal it. Buy it. But Cenred’s soldiers must not starve,” Morgause pointed her finger at Alvarr, who swallowed and nodded in response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, I can't believe it's already past 70k words *SURPRISED* 
> 
> Next updates on Feb, 27
> 
> On the occasion of reaching 70k words, let me reveal the chapter plan in the order of publishing. I assure you, the titles of the chapters reveal no major spoilers, but only hints: 
> 
>  
> 
> VOLUME IV: KINGDOMS AND COURTS 
> 
> 56\. Foridden Love - Morgana POV  
> 57\. Face to Face - Merlin POV  
> 58\. Princess Mithian - Arthur POV  
> 59\. Wretched Piece of Paper - Yrien POV  
> 60\. High Priestess - Morgana POV  
> 61\. Something More - Merlin POV  
> 62\. Crown of Tears - Yrien POV  
> 63\. Duty and Desire - Morgana POV  
> 64\. The Lake of Avalon - Merlin POV  
> 65\. Vidor - Gwen POV  
> 66\. A Helping Hand - Yrien POV 
> 
> VOLUME V: THE LAST DRAGONLORD
> 
> 67\. The Castle of Gedref - Arthur POV  
> 68\. Lessons in Magic - Morgana POV  
> 69\. Bravery and Nobility - Yrien POV  
> 70\. Druid Envoys - Gwen POV  
> 71\. Seaside Kingdom - Arthur POV  
> 72\. Until Her Last Breath - Morgana POV  
> 73\. The Siege - Arthur POV  
> 74\. Secret Love - Merlin POV  
> 75\. Westerners - Arthur POV  
> 76\. Battle of the Merchant's Bay - Artur POV  
> 77\. Freedom - Morgana POV  
> 78\. King and his Warlock - Arthur POV  
> 79\. Daughter in Law - Yrien POV  
> 80\. Two Sides of the Same Coin - Arthur POV  
> 81\. The Labyrinth of Gedref - Arthur POV 
> 
> EPILOGUE: Hungry Blades 
> 
> Thanks for following! <3


	24. Personal Guard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Morgause is away to hold talks with King Cenred, Morgana is left in the druid's camp with Alvarr as her personal guard. Will he be more than that?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

_So it is Cenred_ , Morgana thought as she observed Ruadan roll the parchments with detailed maps on the table. _Morgause will kill Sir Vidor to provoke war between King Ryence and Vyda Gaheris, and once Vyda's two thousand swords start marching Camelot's way, the druids will offer their alliance to the crown - on the condition Ryence agrees to lift the ban on magic. If he does, five thousand Cenred's swords will help put the westerners in their place and secure the throne for Ryence, and for his newphew, prince Rion. A sweet song, but Morgause is dexterous at avoiding uncomfrotable questions. What will Cenred ask in return? Whatever debt he owes to Morgause, it's unlikely to be so big that he will send an army of five thousand men invading Camelot._

"Before we go," Morgause, on her feet, cloaked in grey with her blonde hair as fair as the snowdrop flowers, sounded hesistant for the first time during their meeting. "There is one last thing we best discuss."

Everybody was eyeing the High Priestess warily. The Triskelion council had brought more burdens and confusion to the plans that had already lacked order, precision and calculation. Ruadan looked half-terrified, as if afraid that Morgause had another uneasy news up her sleeve.

"The dragon. It's free and roaming the sky. _Who_ set it free?" Morgause asked, as though demanding the members of Triskelion council to confess.

Lochru, who had not cared to stand up and remained seated, cloaked in his woolen robes, studied Morgause without the least hint of trust.

"Would that we knew," Lochru said at last, his words so heavy to distinguish due to his lack of teeth. "The druid folk tell different tales. Some say..."

"The druid folk?" Morgause lashed out. "The druid folk?! You of all people know that freeing the dragon is not a stupid juggler's trick. The dragon was confined within the Dragon Caves beneath the castle, his freedom bound by the chains of Belisama. It would take magic, and a powerful one, to break the spell. Whoever did it was no stranger to the Old Ways."

Lochru laughed.

"And what frightens you so? Ought you not be celebrating the Old Ways rather than fearing their comeback?"

"I fear nothing!" Morgana could see her sister's colour rising. "You may be blind, old man, but I am not. I am not blind to the things happening in the kingdom! The dragon was set free by a sorcerer or a witch of an immense power. The creature nearly burnt the castle of Camelot before he was defeated by Prince Arthur, who as we all know could not have defeated the monster, for it takes more than a spear to kill a dragon. The magic protecting the land of Andor suddenly springs back to life, and the mortal blades lose power once their bearer crosses the river. The smallfolk's spreading tales about the Labyrinth of Gedref's power rising to the south... Why, one may think Queen Andor suddenly came back to life."

"Morgause, you must choose your words more carefully when you speak of Queen Andor," Ruadan told her quietly, abandoning his maps. "She's long been dead. Powerful as she was, she could not possess magic that would let her come back from the dead. I tell you, we are at the same loss as you. Nobody knows what is happening, truth be told and the guesswork and the rumours are trying to outdo each other in their stupidity... Whoever freed the dragon didn't bother telling the druids about his or her plan, have no doubt. And the Andor magic was the biggest surprise to all of us, although a pleasant one, and I'd not mind such surprises in the future."

"It is indeed a blessing for the druids," Finna agreed amiably. "Now we're protected from the mortal blades of our foes, so long as we do not cross the river, and our folk can know peaceful life in the land of Andor, just like thirty-two years ago. The druids say it is the work of Emrys!"

"Of course," Morgana noticed her sister roll her eyes. "Emrys."

"You may laugh all you want, priestess," Lochru sent his words chasing Morgause as she was storming out the pavilion. "But even you can't deny the prophecy! He was promised to the druids, his future has been written since the dawn of time!"

"Whoever wrote his future had a terrible handwriting," Morgause breathed out angrily once she and Morgana left the pavilion.

Morgana looked back, uncertain about whether their sudden parting had left the members of the Triskelion council offended. _I haven't said goodbye to Alvarr,_ she thought, remembering how his voice had frightened her in the morning.

"Fools," Morgause kept saying, as if to herself, as they were walking back to their tent. "Talking about Emrys at such days... Why are they so eager to deceive themselves, I wonder? Well, it must be from the hard life, I guess. Often people would gladly believe in the greatest folly rathen than take the bitter truth. To have their nightsleep undisturbed, so to say."

"Who is Emrys?" Morgana asked carefully, not sure her sister was in the mood for talking.

"A brave hero of the druid folk. The man that would unite the lands of Albion into a kingdom where justice would reign and magic would be respected. A silly story to make their children fall asleep quicker and help them avoid the terrible nightmares which would suit the druid's life better, if you ask me."

"So Emrys is the legend?"

"Not the legend, sister, he is the man promised _by_ the legend. The savior of the druids, the one to shield them from the tyrrany of Uther's swords."

"You don't believe in him?"

" _Believe_? Morgana, nobody has ever seen Emrys in the crystal of Neahtid or any other crystals that allow the glimpse at future. Understand this: Emrys is their way to cope with the terrible wrongs done to them. Goddess knows they've suffered greatly. They were hunted like animals, stripped of all the rights and the faintest shade of men's dignity, forced into hiding and prohibited to live among the common folk. To soothe each other's pain and to make their children's tears dry quicker, they created this silly legend for their children, the legend of an all-mighty Emrys coming one day and saving them all from Uther and his hounds. Small wonder all they did after the Purge was _wait_. Waiting and re-telling this never-heard-by-anybody prophecy about Emrys instead of trying to lift a finger to help themselves. Alvarr's the rare druid who didn't want to wait."

"Yet you are rather harsh on him," Morgana let the words pass her lips, rather carelessly.

"I will be harsh on anybody, sister. It's war, and people are going to die on both sides. The future of the Old Ways is at stake and I would not tolerate their follies now. Each has the part to play. Alvarr must find food and Finna would do her best to bring some gold from those interested in the restoration of the old ways. Mine are swords and fury."

Morgana noticed they were walking back to the improvised stables that were located a bit far from the main camp. There were no more than two dozen horses, all tied to the trees, with hay piled all over the place and the stench of horseshit in the air. Some boys and girls were there, performing their morning duties of taking care of the forest stables. When they stopped by the green wealth of the old yew tree, Morgana had the chance to look her sister in the eyes and to ask what she had chosen not to ask at the council.

"What will Cenred ask for in return for his swords?"

Morgause put on an appreciative smile, the way a mother does when entertained by her child's right answer to some riddle.

"You're smarter than all of them combined. What may Cenred ask, indeed? Why, but gold. His kingdom's in debt to the rich merchants of Tir Mor, their Silky Bank. They started raiding the southern lands of Essetir and confiscating Cenred's tax wagons. He is in dire need of gold, sister, and if he dares attack Tir Mor, he'll have Mercia, Kent, Anglia and Nemeth all come to Tir Mor's rescure. That's why I will promise him what his heart desires."

"Gold?"

"More than gold. I shall give him Northern Ascetir."

"But Ascetir is one of Camelot's least wealthy territories," Morgana said, with too much puzzlement on her mind. "It has forests and hunting rights, and timber craftsmen, and... a part of Mercian road lies there!"

"Indeed it does," Morgause nodded. "And the merchats who'll use it will have to pay a special tax to King Cenred for the king will kindly grant their trade companies safe conduct. Goddess knows the trade between Mercia and Camelot is rich, and Cenred will have his fair share and settle his business with Tir Mor."

"But you haven't told them... other druids! Will they be happy to know Cenred will have Northern Ascetir once the war is done?"

"They don't need to know. _You_ will be the Queen of Camelot, not that toothless old fool, and _you_ will sign the treaty between Essetir and Camelot. Now listen, sister..."

Morgana didn't like the tone of Morgause's voice, and even less - the look in her sister's eyes. Whatever she wanted to discuss was something rather unpleasant, and of all the unpleasant things the war would bring, marriage with Ryence's nephew was the most disgusting proposal.

"If it's about Rion..."

"It is not. Morgana, we'll have to part."

"Part?"

"Yes. I need to pay a visit to Cenred. I'm still too weak to repeat the whirlwind spell, and I'll have to travel alone. Cenred's land is not safe enough for the future Queen of Camelot."

_The future queen of Camelot. Am I to be Queen? Will I ever be free if I sit the throne?_

"So long as the land across the river Albus is protected by the Andor magic, it's the safest place for you. Safer than the Isle of the Blessed herself. Still, you must always remain in Alvarr's sight. He'd do his best to protect you, otherwise..."

_Best not talk of "otherwise". I've not broken my fast and the description of "otherwise" will surely spoil my appetite, I am sure._

"When will you be back?" Morgana was genuinely worried as she watched her sister mount the stallion.

"I can't know," Morgause was more gloomy than usual. "I will come back sooner than Cenred's army, but it will take a week, no less."

"Will you teach me magic when you come?"

When Morgause heard the question, the sincere smile graced the priestess's expression.

"Of course I will."

"I want to know how to use the whirlwind spell, too," Morgana said dreamingly, thinking that all the fantasies of her mind were not enough to imagine a fraction of the joy the spell brings. _Traveling from place to place by magic. Crossing hundreds of leagues in a blink of an eye._

"And you will know so much more, sister, I promise you."

Morgause rode away, goading her stallion into a gallop. Morgana watched her grey cloak flapping in the wind, and she suddenly felt small and miserably unfit when compared to all the skills, crafts and might of her elder sister. _She is no more than four years older than me, and here she is - mounting her horse and ready to ride through the hostile land and persuade the king to give her command over five thousand soldiers. She is too beautiful to hold such a power over life and death._

Yet hold it she did. The elder daughter of Vivienne and Ector of House Gorlois, Morgause had stayed alive against all odds. She had watched her sisters perish in the dragonflames when Balinor commanded Kilgharrah to destory the Isle of the Blessed, bathing its high walls and towers in flames, and stood there with few of her surviving guardians that beheld the fire engulfing the last stronghold of the Old Religion. Hers was the grief and the sorrow, and hers was the vow to grow up and avenge the true evil that caused the disaster. Her guardians could be proud of her, for even after Uther's death, she kept her vows and would not rest until the realm welcomed magic back.

For the first time since coming back to life after the poison Merlin had so kindly served her, Morgana was not under Morgause's watch. As she was facing her freedom, she realized freedom had some frightening features, too. Without Morgause by her side, she felt like a warrior without a shield thrown into a battle: vulnerable and open to threats, threats that, like she had learned in Greenswood, would not vanish with Uther's death. The druid camp was of course as far from the fields of clanging steel as it could be, but it was the place where people were massing for a rebellion. _And I must somehow play my part now, even while Morgause is away. I am not going to sit in my tent under Alvarr's protection._

Alvarr happened to be waiting for her not far from the stables, with a red apple in his hand which Morgana accepted as the most precious gift of the morning. She was chewing the fruit, trying to savour every shade of sour and sweet it provoked in her mouth, for it seemed ages since she had last eaten properly.

Alvarr was happy to see her so vivid and so natural. With his pointy bearded chin, his strong hands resting on the hilt of his sword and his eyes following her curiously, she thought he was making her blush just by his presence. She found herself thinking of Alvarr much too often this morning.

"What are you going to do now?"

"Me? Why, but lead my men to Idirsholas," Alvarr said thoughtfully.

"Idirsholas?"

"Of course. We'll need a stronghold of our own when Cenred's men arrive. Idirsholas will serve well. It's a bloody good castle, they say. A dark place, and cursed, but that's just people's talk, no more."

"People were right to be afraid of the curse. The knights of Medihr proved a terrible force. Uther learnt it, to his sorrow." Morgana shivered as she remembered when the knight of Medihr tried to cut her in the corridor of the castle of Camelot. _Merlin was quick to leave me there for the knight of Medihr to butcher. He didn't know Morgause's enchantment prevented the dead knights from harming me. He didn't leave me then because of his cowardice. It was a cold calculation. He wanted me dead. He and Arthur._

"So it may be. Terrible or not, they are gone, your sister saw to that, but people do well to avoid this castle. After everything that happened to Camelot, the word spread fast that the knights of Medihr rose in Idirsholas, and thanks to market fools many people believe they escaped Camelot and rode back to the cursed castle. Not that many people used to be fond of visiting Idirsholas before, but after all that happened, the land is deserted and the fortress is abandoned."

The sky grew as grey as the sheets of stormy sea, and soon the raindrops were making the leaves ring like bells. People were quick to try to hide under the trees or in their tents, except for children, who were happy to be chasing each other in the mud and rain, playing the game of dragon and dragonlord.

"I shall go with you. To Idirsholas," Morgana announced.

"This is impossible," Alvarr stopped abruptly and turned to face her.

"Why?"

"Your sister warned me. She told me she'd put my head on a spike and feed my useless body to the hounds if anything happened to you."

"And what could possibly happen to me in a deserted land and an abandoned fortress?" Morgana's eyebrows were dancing as she tried to use Alvarr's own words against him. The renegade wasn't too fond of it.

"Morgana, this is not something worth japing..."

"I'm not japing. I will be going with you."

"Your sister.."

"Is on her way to Essetir. And if you thought I'd be happy gathering wild berries, you've got much to learn about me. I am the niece of dragonlord, you've said it yourself. I will take part in determining the druid's future and helping where I can."

"War's not meant for ladies," Alvarr said, giving a careless shrug.

"And why is that?" Morgana's fury turned into a full fire in her hungry belly.

"Morgana, you may be far from the castle Camelot, but you are still a lady. You are too gentle a creature for war. You're meant to serve beauty and pleasure in this world."

Her eyes were brimming with rage. _Not a creature for war? After all I did for him? After I helped him steal the crystal of Neahtid? After I helped him escape?"_

"Name your champion," her voice was calm but cold as the top of a mountain covered with snow.

"What?" her words startled him so badly that he stumbled upon his own feet.

"Name your champion and I'll show you who's meant for beauty and pleasure! I'm worth _dozens_ of your best fighters."

"Morgana, I..."

"Be brave enough and give me a chance. I promise I won't cut him."

Morgana noticed people gathering around them, women whispering something and men cheering and laughing. Children were shouting "swordfight!" triumphantly. Some old woman was telling her friend it was sheer folly and that Morgana was too young to have an understanding of what a swordfight was. Suddenly, Morgana felt the way she had felt at the practising field of Arthur's knights, where nobody would agree to train with her because she was a _woman_ and _a king's ward_.

Alvarr's tongue flicked nervously over his lips that were cracking out of some reason.

"You really have the dragon's blood in you," he muttered. "Fine. On your head be it. I will name no champion, but I will fight you myself."

 _I will see you try_ , Morgana already felt jubilant somebody was ready to give her a chance.

"We fight on one condition," she said loudly, so that everybody around them could hear. "If I win, I'll go to Idirsholas with you. Let all the honest men witness our terms."

The crowd's cheers went louder. Morgana noticed Ruadan, the leader of the Camelot tribe, step out of the Triskelion pavilion to investigate what all the fuss was about. When he saw younger squires bringing swords to Morgana and to Alvarr and people encircling them, forming a battle arena, the flicker of disapproval crossed the lean man's face. Finna came out of the pavilion, too, and pursed her lips and pressed her hand to them.

"I will be careful, my lady," Alvarr promised.

"Oh, I have no doubt you'll be."

Goosebumps were rising across her arms as she grabbed the sword and took the position. To her pleasure, Alvarr moved first, attacking her with a violent blow, but she got her sword up in time, and drove the renegade backwards, attacking him with every blow. The cheering crowd had suddenly gone deathly quiet; some women screamed. Steel was clanging in the pouring rain, and with the soft soil beneath their feet, Morgana was moving more softly than Alvarr. He was strong and delivered the hardest blows she'd ever met with her sword, the shocks of impacts were running up her arms so strognly she feared she might lose her grip on the hilt. However, Alvarr was also short of patience and his feet were sliding on the slippery soil as Morgana urged him to move. Morgana's somewhat sly manner demanded too much from the renegade who had been accustomed to fight relying on the brutal strenght, and soon he was saving blow after blow, and Morgana blocked a treacherous cut at her head, but pushed back instantly and achieved what she was wanting the most: Alvarr lost balance for a moment which was enough. For a moment it looked as though she was about to slam a sidestroke into his ribs, but she deceived him and instead went for his leg, crashing him on the ground and pointing a blade at his chest. Alvarr cursed, and the sighs of relief were emitted by the crowd; men were laughing at Alvarr.

Morgana sheathed the sword and gave it back to the squires; the pain was all over her arms, but it was the sweet pain of victory. Alvarr was lying in the mud, cursing.

"I've been bruised before, my lady," he said, rising to his feet and wincing from pain. "But never before have I been brusied by such a skillful fighter. My apologies for undermining you."

The crowd went wild for Morgana, and the roars were as pleasant as nothing had ever been. It reminded her of Ealdor, of the time when she chose to oppose the bandits and could use her power to protect the disenfranchised people of the village and to show Arthur she was no less a sword fighter than the prince. _Except for in Ealdor, few were there to see my skills, and now all these people are cheering for me_. She approached Alvarr and let him kiss her hand, and suddenly, she thought that the best way to make peace with him was to kiss him on the lips, she wanted to kiss his lips so badly it hurt. But she could not. _Not here, no with so many people watching._

"Be it as you wish. We will ride to Idirsholas on the morrow with two dozen of my men. I am not sure I can resume my duties as your personal guard, though."

"What can keep you from it?"

"Judging by what I have just seen, my lady, you don't need a personal guard. I pitty whatever foe that stands your way," he said, smiling as the raindrops were running down his face. Morgana didn't notice she was soaked-through, too, and it seemed she couldn't notice anything in the wide world save for the admiring look Alvarr was sending her way.

 

 

 


	25. Herald of The New Age

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Ryence returns to Camelot and learns the grandson of Vyda Gaheris, Sir Vidor, has arrived to the castle for the King's Tourney. He has brough a letter from his grandmother, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King Ryence POV 
> 
> timeline note: King Ryence returns to Camelot the same day Gwen is released from the beige chambers. Morgana won the combat against Alvarr the previous day and must be at Idirsholas by now.

The narrow streets of Southern Village were lined by men, women and children with flowers in their hands, and loud cheers were hanging in the morning air. Nobody was at work and nobody would be at work that day. Construction workers, craftsmen and farmers would lay off all their duties, for the great feast had come to Camelot: the war was over.

Three weeks ago, the news of Cendred's invasion had reached the castle of Camelot, and the kingdom had suffered terrible blows even without the real fighting breaking out. The mutilated body of Prince Arthur, slain in the patrol, had been brought to castle, and King Uther's heart had collapsed from the news of his son's death. About a week after King Uther's sudden passing, the dead prince's body was brought back to life by the Dark Magic of Gedref Labyrinth, and Arthur's corpse turned into a wraith, just like his uncle's corpse had done the previous year.

The smallfolk's mood was growing grim and, as though the news about invasion and the passing of Uther the Great and his son had not been enough, people remained horrorstruck from the four nights of Dragon's Attack that had befell the castle a month ago.

The news about Brechfa's liberation were ringing in every inn and every room of the castle, every house and every smithy, and the food prices at the market had dropped as though by command. King Ryence's victory meant happiness, it was taken as a herald of the new age, the age without dragon's attacks and foreign invasions, the age when good and honest people would have the chance for peaceful life. As a result, soldiers of king's guard had to be drawn to the Southern Village to hold back the jubilant crowd, for the commoners turned up in such numbers that some members of the monarch's guard suggested King Ryence followed his way in his litter, but Ryence refused with a smirk.

King Ryence was riding at the front, on his chestnut mare, in the dark shining mail that was meant to take the eyes off his long grey hair and his grey beard. He chose not to wear the armor, even though he had previously favored his battle-armor which made his body look less feeble. His nephew, Rion, dressed in black velvets slashed with crimson and a shimmering gold cape with a high collar, was following the king on a tall white palfrey he had borrowed from Lord Cynric's private stables. Behind Rion and Ryence, the double column of knights was moving, bearing Gingawaines' banners: bear prints amidst yellow colour. The other soldiers had been ordered to remain in Brechfa.

Horns were blowing fanfares and flowers were raining from the sky as Ryence and Rion were moving towards the Southern Bridge. Cheers were going up in the air, and Ryence saw people dancing in the smaller streets. He knew the holiday was all over Camelot, and people would drink and dance and laugh and jape as long as it didn't start raining from the sky that was promising rain.

"People love us," Rion said, his merriment reaching the shades of pride when they started riding the Southern Bridge. "Look at how they cheer for you!"

"They will love us even more when the deeds of our reign are found not only on the battle fields, but also in the peaceful life," Ryence replied, trying to repress his own enthusiasm. "You've been studying with mother, Rion?"

"No," Rion said, feigning his carefree attitude too much to make it seem natural. "I was hunting."

"Hunting? Rion, you've just turned sixteen and by the laws of our kingdom, you can marry and you've been asking for a seat on the Council! What will you be counseling? Hunting? I'll hear no more of the hunting trips, not unless you complete your lessons."

Ryence heard no more of Rion until they reached the inner yard of the castle, where the members of High Court were positioned, twenty-nine people. Three people were lined up closest to Ryence, three members of his council: Leanora Caelia, his young Councilor of Trade, the woman with bronze hair, Astol Gerain, his Councilor of Provision, a man in his forties with light brown hair and a handsome face, and twice the size of Lady Caelia and Lord Geraint combined, Deos Sagramore, his Secretary, a giant long-bearded man, dark of his hair, fat of his belly and wearing, as usual, the golden chain around his dark-blue robes. _My Council looks as empty as an Eofham inn_ , Ryence thought. _Accolon is in Daobeth or Asgorath, Cynric has departed Brechfa two days ago, I left Sir Leon in the castle of Chemary to restore peace in Brechfa... Where's Yrien, though? She is the Councilor of Camelot. I pray she changes her dress if she is busy torturing Gaius._

Behind his three council members, to the left of the grand entrance, the Dindranes were gathered. Ryence saw Anna, the wizened slouching woman with her grey hair that had become a little blueish from too much time under sun. Tawton, her son, was standing next to Anna. He had wiry black hair, broad shoulders and looked like the famous knight that he was, the true heir to the late Demeth Dindrane. Tawton's wife, Myramel Somerset, a short plump woman with thick long golden hair had her hands on the shoulders of her daughters: Ravenna and Medinna. Ravenna was seventeen, slender and beautiful, dark-haired like her father and brown-eyed, while Medinna was thirteen and had her hair golden, just like her mother. The Dindranes were wearing yellow, something Ryence took as Anna's intention to make compliment to the Royal Family’s favorite colour.

To the right of the entrance, the House of Blanchefleur was present. Enid Blanchefleur, Uther's Treasurer, had been dismissed from his position, and he had departed the castle, together with his wife and his cousin, Segma Meirchion, the Lady of Ascetir, who was struggling to cope with the grief brought by the news of her sons slain in Arthur's patrol. _Would that I could make it bloodless... If the poor woman follows her sons soon, I will have another castle to grant. If Segma dies, I best give her castle to the Blanchefleurs, for there are too many Blachefleurs in Camelot now. It's a blessing they are so quiet and don't meddle up.f_

Even though Enid had left the castle after twenty-two years of service to Uther as the Treasurer, his son and daughter, Marcus and Meliassa, chose to remain in the castle of Camelot, and so did Enid's sister Lynsa, an old stout maiden of fifty-six. _No wonder_ , Ryence, smirked, _few people would prefer the castle of Asceitr over the capital of the kingdom._ Meliassa, who looked as though she was deep in her thirties, had dark long hair and blue eyes. Orien, her husband, had limp brown hair grown so long that he kept pushing the falls of his hair from his eyes. Their daughter Olivia was nine, a child that would cause much trouble within the household, for Olivia and her cousin, Gorman, would play a game of stealing tarts from kitchen maids that went mad about it. Gorman's father, Marcus, had dark hair plastered across his gaunt face by the early rainfall. Marcus's wife, Iseut, had flaxen hair and a warm smile.

The third group of people included everybody who belonged neither with his council nor with Dindranes or Blanchefleurs. Ryence recognized the wine-dimmed face of Kerris Ragnell, the Lord of Balor, who hoped that wine would soothe the pain from losing Hengest in the patrol mission. Bors Pellinore, the Lord of Nemeton, was there, too, but he looked stronger than Lord Ragnell. Ryence noticed Caradol Gornemant, the husband of Galla Dindrane and their eldest son Nydd in the crowd. Igressa Lamorak, the ginger beauty, her husband Trevelyan, whose father used to serve as the Councilor of Provision in Uther's court, and their ginger teens Thomas and Umberta. Rollisa, his Secretary's wife, the premanently worried woman and her daughter Ewina, one of the most prominent brides in Camelot since her father had become the Secretary. Old Vortimer, his sister Loanna and his son Bray were there, too. There was also the young lad hardly older than twenty, a new face to the gathering, a handsome youth with broad chest and strong-looking arms who looked almost like... _No, that's impossible._

"My lord. You're victorious! Let all the members of your court in my face congratulate you on the victory!"

"I thank you, lord Sagramore, and I thank you all for this warm welcome to the castle," Ryence said, dismounting the horse as Rion was helping him.

"The pleasure is ours, my lord."

_You are just happy your fat arse is safe and can be getting fatter._

"Where is my sister, may I inquire?"

"Lady Yrien is not feeling well today, I am afraid."

Ryence wanted to ask whether Gaius had checked her, and he nearly chocked on his question.

"My lords, my ladies, please let my nephew accompany you to the feast hall. I will join you once I dress myself in something more suitable."

They all bowed down, and Ryence smiled when Medinna, the thirteen-year-old granddaughter of Anna Dindrane, brought him a beautiful bouquet of yellow forest flowers.

“Thank you, child,” he said, much to the pleasure of Anna who kept watching her granddaughter closely.

“It’s an honor, your grace,” the girl squealed in return.

Ryence let the guards lead the way to the Royal Tower. He made a wry face once he entered the castle and the cool air washed over him. The walls were magnificent, but lacked the beauty that was Brechfa, lacked the touch of natural simplicity, the vibrant homage to nature. The walls seemed lifeless, and upon entering the castle, Ryence recalled all the silly stories about the dark creatures of Sigan lingering in the dragon dungeons of Camelot. The thoughts made his blood turn cool.

He couldn’t find Yrien in her room. It turned out she was waiting for him in the Widow’s chambers, the beige room that once belonged to Queen Ygraine. Ryence stormed in without knocking.

"There were hundreds of people on the street, sweet sister. The roads were carpeted with flowers, and people were singing songs and praising me to the heights of the sky. I was expecting to see you greeting me, too."

Yrien was looking as though she intended to go downstairs and greet him and make other ladies jealous of her jeweled tiara in her auburn hair shining from oriental oils. Her dress was that of blue velvet trimmed with white, and she had a silver chain around her neck to match the splendor of her tiara.

"Ryence,” she smiled, turning away from the window to face her brother. “Welcome back. I knew you would be victorious, but I had the business to attend."

She came close and kissed him on both cheeks.

"The matters that would prevent you from meeting your king?"

"Four guards were found this very morning. All knocked out in a similar fashion," Yrien said, her eyes emitting a glow of hopelessness.

Ryence was not expecting this. He thought making Uther’s knights go to Brechfa and replacing Uther’s guards with his household would tighten the security.

"Four guards, you say?" he repeated absent-mindedly.

"Yes. _Nobody_ has seen the intruder. Judging by their words, a shadow has crept into the castle! Nobody has heard anything, none of the guards could tell how they have been knocked out…”

 _A shadow?_ The chill of the chambers had nothing to do with the air, but Ryence could feel his arms weak and cold.

"Where are they now? These _guards_."

"All confined. In the cells. Ryence, they must be lying and..."

Ryence closed his eyes and shook his head to demonstrate his growing discontent with Yrien’s course.

"If word spreads that we are throwing people in the cells for guarding us poorly, nobody will show up to guard us at all. Send word to free them at once and make them wait in the barracks. I shall speak to them myself after the feast."

Yrien’s voice was sharp and her tone – defensive. _She’s not trying to justify her follies, she is trying to tell me I am stupid._

"Ryence, they must have plotted, what they are saying can't be true..."

Ryence raised his hand.

"What were the results of this... intrusion?"

"We don't know," Yrien turned away, as though feeling humiliated at the fact that her brief reign in Ryence’s absence resulted in the failure of the system of castle’s security.  

"Has anything been stolen? Lost?" Ryence pressed the point.

"Not that we know. We've checked the vaults. Everything is at place. Whatever they were looking for, it was not gold."

Ryence dared not break the silence of the room for some time. He loved the colors here, the air of tranquility about the room and the fact that it had stayed uninhabited ever since Queen Ygraine passed giving birth to Arthur.

"A peculiar thing,” he finally concluded. “Coincides with my arrival... We'll have to double the guards at our doors and change the tasters for the feast. I don't intend to follow Uther into the grave. You will persuade me it's Anna Dindrane, of course?"

Yrien’s eyes flickered at the mention of Anna’s name.

"I know naught. The wench is quiet and as polite as a serving maid. She doesn't trouble me with her actions, it's her quietness drives me insane. I've received reports from the Mercian merchants. Druids are crossing the Mercian road in great numbers, Ryence. I've sent patrol groups to find out what's going on there."

"You did a good thing, sweet sister."

Yrien’s expression changed; she felt proud she had done something right.

"There also has been a letter. Brought to me by the most-welcomed guest," Yrien said, taking the rolled parchment from between her breasts.

“Guest?”

“Sir Vidor Gaheris.”

“Vyda’s grandson?”

“Yes,” Yrien said, biting her lips nervously. “He has arrived for the king’s tourney. A handsome youth of one and twenty, he has brought a messaged from his grandmother.”

"I've just seen him among the court. He takes after Uther so much he gave me chills. For a moment I thought young Uther was standing there to avenge me. Give me the letter."

 

“ _To lord Ryence of House Gingawaine._

_I am writing this letter to let you know that the Western lords and ladies, namely Lord Catigern, Lady Galla Dindrane, Lord Lucan and me, Lady Gaheris, have been negotiating the terms of presenting our seals to the court of Camelot where you were elected a new king._

_It pains House Gaheris and all the other Western houses that our lords and ladies were excluded from your election. As we continue to debate over the choice to be made, voices are raised that suggest we take part in your re-election._

_However, I think that there must be a safer and quicker way to solidify your legitimacy and Galla Dindrane and me are ready to send you our seals. Lord Catigern, however, proves stubborn._

_I must say that Lord Catigern’s lack of wits concern me a lot. I fear for what happens to Asgorath after he dies, and the man is over sixty-eight and counting, too old for his hunting trips. We all know that Lord Catigern is childless, and I am sure Lord Gornemant, his cousin, suggests that the Lordship of Asgorath is passed to Keres Gornemant after Lord Catigern’s death._

_Much as I respect Lord Gornemant and his house, I also feel the urge to remind you that the heir of the castle of Asgorath was Morgana of House Gorlois, the daughter of Lord Catigern’s paternal cousin. When Morgana was lost to the Dark Witch, the castle by the law of our land went to her guardian, Uther of House Pendragon. Now that Uther is dead, the castle by law should pass to Uther’s son (who died in the forest of Brechfa) or Uther’s cousin, if exists._

_I thank you dearly and hope for the decree._

_Vyda of House Gaheris, the Lady of Daobeth and the faithful servant to the throne of Camelot."_

 

"Ryence, what does it mean? What does she want? Is it some game?" Yrien's voice was sinking to panic.

"A game, but a simple one,” Ryence said, tearing the letter into pieces so that nobody could read it again. “Lady Gaheris promises to send me rings with seals without re-election if I grant one of Uther's cousins, who both happen to be her sons, lordship over Asgorath after Lord Catigern's death.”

“Is she mad?” Yrien looked as though Vyda Gaheris had just broken all the laws of the land. “Ryence, this is more than madness! This is an insult to the king’s honor! She’s beyond greedy!”

“What do you suggest, sweet sister?”

“We should seize Vidor and see if she is ready to become humble for the sake of her grandson!”

_And suffer the civil war in return. Thank you kindly._

“If you were to rule the land, the great houses of Camelot would be covered in blood up their knees. Sweet sister, tell me, does the territory of Asgorath seem too high a price for the West to recognize me?”

“She will take it as our weakness!” Yrien hissed. “Her demands will rise once she manages to get what she wants by simply refusing to send her bloody seal!”

“Her demands will remain moderate. Why else do you think she sends Vidor for the tourney? To show her affection for peace. Her grandson is our guest. See that he has a separate pavilion for the tourney and is treated with respect as befits his title.”

Yrien grabbed him by the arm, urging him to look into her eyes. She gave him the look of the mother that was trying to talk her child off doing something foolish.

“How can you be so blind, Ryence? How can’t you see that her grip on the West will be stronger? She rules Daobeth, and if you surrender to her demands, her younger son will become the Lord of Asgorath once Lord Catigern is dead. With Galla Dindrane ruling over Denaria, we will have two families controlling most of the West! If any of Vyda’s grandsons marries Galla Dindrane’s granddaughter Laima, they might as well restart Uther’s conquest...”

Ryence freed himself off her hand. _Hate to tell her that she is stupid._

“Sweet sister, war is not only about blood and swords. It’s about gold as well. Vyda Gaheris is the Lady of Daobeth, so much is true. But _why_ is she the Lady of Daobeth? She never intended to be one. She married Uther's uncle Ulwich years ago. It was a promising marriage because Ulwich, son of King Edren, was thought to inherit the throne of the Mountain Kingdom. However, Uther's Conquest ended up in reshaping the political landscape of all the five kingdoms, and the Mountain Land no longer had their own throne. After the Conquest, Ulwich became a modest Lord of Daobeth, a fading territory. In fact, Daobeth has been fading ever since the Dragons burnt it down. Asgorath is the true gem of the West. Asgorath is ruled by..."

"An old fool who is only interested in hunting."

"And an old fool who never fathered a child. They say that Lord Catigern’s poor reign was caused by the fact that he never cared about his land too much, since he had no children to pass it to. Even if Vyda’s younger son becomes the lord of Asgorath, he will rule over a heavily indebted land, and he will not dare start the rebellion before next spring. By that time, _we will have established the new system of taxes, the system under which a rebellion would be profitless_. That’s why I will order the special Royal Decree on the castle of Asgorath prepared and have it delivered to Vyda as fast as possible. I must order other documents to be prepared before the Council. What were your thoughts on the castle of Gedref?”

“I’ve been trying to decipher lord Blanchefleur’s notes on the castle of Gedref. Our previous Treasurer had a terrible handwriting, but he was good at keeping records and leaving useful notes.”

“And how fairs the new Treasurer?”

“Oh, Cynric is dull and boring. He proposed that we gave the castle of Gedref to the great house who could bid the highest price for it. Naturally, _he_ did. It was fun to see Anna helpless about it. I sent him to you just because I thought it was up to you to have the final say."

"Has he brought you my decree?" 

"He did. He arrived yesterday and presented the decree with your signature and I sealed it. We'll present it to court after the Council, I assume?" 

"You assume correctly. By the way, ask Lord Sagramore to prepare the decree where Rion is granted the title of prince and proclaimed official heir to the throne of Camelot due to his sixteenth name dame. I want it signed at the Council after the tourney, too.” 

_If Vyda wants Asgorath, let her have it. I would be laughing my arse off if I could see her face when I announced the tax reform after the tourney._


	26. The Sad Song of Firewater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin has to turn to his last hope for solving the sunstone and moonstone riddle - the Great Dragon. And turn he does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

"Merlin," Lancelot's attempt to hold his voice in the whisper range was most amusing - his voice was too hoarse for that. "Merlin!"

"Lance, we must keep it quiet," Merlin hissed back, stretching his arm out to make sure the tree branches wouldn't hit him in the face.

"I bloody know we must! It's the King's Wood! Trespassing is punished by law, nobody but the Royal Family has the right to enter the wood. If we're caught we'll..."

"Then we'll make sure we are not caught."

The dusk had long deepened and the darkness of the night was seeping into the King's Wood. Merlin knew they could stumble upon the party of Hunter's Watch, the members of the King's Guard whose duty was to make sure the king's hunting rights were not violated, no matter daylight or after nightfall. However, Merlin thought that since the new king had taken most of Uther's guards and knights into his battle for Brechfa, the King's Wood would be a safe place for summoning Kilgharrah. _What else was I supposed to do? To ask Kilgharrah to talk to me at the market square? His giant arse would destroy everything were he to land in the Lower Town._

Merling giggled at the thought of Kilgharrah arriving at Camelot and petitioning for an audience with the new king. Kilgharrah seemed so valuable, and Merlin, twice or thrice, had been tempted by the thoughts of revealing his dragonlord nature to King Ryence and making him step down. Otherwise.... _What otherwise? Would you threaten to bathe Camelot in dragonflames? You would not dare, after all that happened, after so many people died during Kilgharrah's attack... Besides, if the smallfolk learned Arthur has something to do with a dragonlord, they would never accept him back as a king. The grief over Dragon's Attack is too strong. I'm not even sure how Arthur's going to react to me, when he sees me flying Kilgharrah... I can't keep hiding the truth from him. Dollophead, stay out of trouble, and do as we agreed. I love you, or how I love, you. When we meet I'll..._

Merlin had thought about the King's Wood the day before the Summer Feast. He had dreamed about all the sunny carefree days he would spend with Arthur in the woods after the war with Cenred, for back then, he had thought it was Cenred who had invaded Brechfa. He had imagined them telling everybody they were hunting, he had imagined them lying on the green grass beneath the blue sky and Arthur's face would be a study of cheeky content and their lips would press together and he'd...

"How deeper in the woods must we go?" Lancelot's worried voice was chasing him through the darkness. "I can barely see you. Can't you... you know? Use one of your small talents and light they way?"

"A brilliant idea for those who try to stay unnoticed in the dark. Don't worry, we're nearly there..."

"Nearly where exactly?"

"Near a broad meadow... Or look, it must be it!"

The meadow, full of summer wildflowers, blue and red and scarlet, seemed asleep, with the stands of grass caressed by the lazy wind. The night reigned, with layers of darkness thinning as they went skyward, even though the moon was but a pale crescent, blotted out be the sparkling of the stars. Lancelot's face was so pleasant to look at beneath the moonrain.

"Merlin," he said. "I admit, following you into the king's wood is better than trying to escape the vases Gwen would throw at me, but what are we going to do here? And what did you tell that bloke with the long hair?"

"Told him to watch over Gwen while we're talking."

"Talking about what?"

"Not about what, but with whom," Merlin said and closed his eyes.

The night stood still, and suddenly, everything was gone, everything save for the voice deep within himself, the voice that belonged not to him alone, but to somebody else, too, the voice he shared with his brother-soul. When he heard its call, Merlin opened his eyes that were gleaming fire-red rather than golden, and a roar went out of his lungs:

 _"_ _Ω_ _,_ _Δράκος_ _,_ _ακούει_ _τη_ _φωνή_ _μου_ _και_ _ακούει_ _την_ _ψυχή_ _μου_ _._ _Ελάτε_ _σε_ _μένα_ _,_ _γιατί_ _η_ _ψυχή_ _σας_ _και_ _η_ _δική_ _μου_ _είναι_ _αδέλφια_ _και_ _η_ _θέλησή_ _μου_ _είναι_ _δική_ _σας_ _να_ _ακολουθήσετε_ _!"_

Lancelot stepped back, a little terrified. Merlin's breath was hot and heavy; he had only got in the state of the dragonlord once, and he hadn't had time to forget what it meant. The state of limitless power and might, the desire to abandon his own body, to tear through his own flesh and skin and let his wings spread and fly and roam the sky...

"The bloody hell was that?!" Lancelot sounded alarmed. "Merlin?!"

"We...er... we'll have a guest. My friend."

"Did you just call him?!"

"Yes," Merlin nodded, glad the night was dark enough to mask his smile.

"What sort of friend can hear you talking in... what's that language?"

"Actually, I don't know... It's just... language to me."

"But that's not the common language!"

"It's not," Merlin nodded, wondering how much time it would take for Kilgharrah to come. "This friend, he can hear me from very far. It's the dragon."

"The what?"

"The Dragon. The Great Dragon."

Lancelot glanced at the sky, his hand reaching for the sword that was missing on his belt. _I'd be afraid, too, if I were told I'd meet a dragon. Well, I reckon he'd rather meet a dragon than go back to Gwen's house. Gwen might not be a dragon, but she will find ways to roast him, from what I've seen... Not that I blame her. Lance did a vile thing when he left her without saying goodbye. A vile thing that ruined her course with Arthur... Oh, Goddess, is it bad I was the one happy about it? Happy that everything went that way? I was happy that Arthur learnt that Gwen loved someone else, I really was. I wasn't ready to admit it back then, but there's no point lying now. When we got back to Camelot..._ Merlin recalled that day at once. _Arthur realized Gwen loved Lancelot, and he was moody and we were walking down the castle steps into the square, hand in hand - except for we were not holding hands._

_"Look on the bright side, you've still got me," Merlin feigned his tone, trying to make himself sound as casually as possible, when in fact there was a storm in his heart._

_"Is that supposed to cheer me up?" Arthur bounced back, the arrogance in his voice too artificial to believe in._

_"Thought it might," Merlin said, even though he hoped his words would do much more than just cheer the prince._

_"You really are a complete idiot, aren't you, Merlin?" Arthur smiled._

"Merlin, did you just say you're friends with A DRAGON?!" Lancelot was running his fingers through his hair. "THE GREAT DRAGON? THE ONE THAT WAS A PRISONER UNDER THE CASTLE?!"

"Lance, keep it down, please," Merlin whispered. "Yes, it's _that_ dragon, the great dragon. You've nothing to fear. I tell you, he's my friend. He helped me many times."

_And one of his favors pushed me to poisoning Morgana. And I best not think what his bargains can do to people. Innocent people. Although Kilgharrah would say there was but one path he could take after..._

"How did you even make friends with a dragon?" Lancelot's voice was oversalted with disbelief. "Merlin... I knew you were a man of many talents, but a friendship with a dragon..."

"He called me soon after I arrived to the castle. I could hear his voice in my head. There were so few creatures of magic at the castle that we eventually became friends, you know. Or would you rather have me befriend that griffin you later slaughtered?" Merlin grinned.

Lancelot smiled at him.

"Nobody would believe me when I used to say I'd killed a griffin with an enchanted lance," he complained. "Merin, why do you look so thin and pale?"

"I've been traveling a lot," Merlin chose to explain everything later. "Where have you been? After you escaped Hengist's fortress?"

"You mean after you fed Hengist to the Wilddeoren?" Lance laughed. "Goddess, what a horrible way to die."

"You're talking as though there are other ways to die. Dying is horrible."

"Not if you've lived a happy life and die peacefully in your sleep, in your southern house with your wife and children, after long years of brave service... And if you have songs sung about your feats..."

"Alright, that doesn't sound horrible. Anyway, what became of you after you left that place?"

"Nothing happy, to be honest. There were few opportunities for men like me, you know. There are always few opportunities for low-born man who only can earn a living with a sword in his hand. But it's the only way I know. It's what I do best. I no longer wanted to entertain people like Hengist, and the only other option was to join the mercenaries."

"Which ones?"

"Oh, there are many companies. I went to Lindum first, but Mercian demand on mercenaries dropped significantly after the treaty signed with Uther last year."

"The peace treaty that nearly caused war," Merlin giggled. 

"I heard those stories. They said Uther threw King Bayard in the dungeons because he was seduced by Bayard's serving girl. Is that true?"

"Far from it. There was a witch at Bayard's court who wanted to sabotage the peace talks and make Mercia go to war with Camelot."

"Madness. Madness upon madness. I always thought the world of magic was dangerous."

"Well, it's as dangerous as the world of swords, I guess. So what after Lindum?"

"I started listening to port gossips, and the talks at inns. Served as a guard for one of the merchant companies to make some coins, at Wide Bay."

"Where's that?"

"It's the eastern end of Mercia, a bay shared by Mercia and Anglia. They said Kent was suffering from the invasion of Saxons. They fought a great battle against them nine years ago, Kent won it and they thought Saxons would bloody stop landing... However, they say the Saxon children keep popping out of the Saxons's whores like flies, that's a quote. They said Cenred owed much gold to the Silky Bank of Tír-Mòr, so much, in fact, that the King of Tír-Mòr was considering hiring as many swords as he could to make Cenred pay his debts. Londinium is rich and prosperous, and they surely can hire swords."

"And you went to Tír-Mòr?"

"I did, but I barely saw Tír-Mòr. The mercenaries like me were gathered at Wide Bay port, and shipped off to Londinium, where we barely spent two days after being sent to Verulas in Southern Essetir. Well, I don't know if it's Essetir since Tír-Mòr host is there. After barely two weeks of training, they sent us to our first mission."

"What did you have to do?"

"We were sent to capture the tax wagons. They said it was sort of legal, since Cenred owed a great deal to the crown of  Tír-Mòr. Wagons were delivering gold to King Cenred, to the North, where the capital of Esseitr is, right beside the border with Mercia."

"Was it…er…easy?"

"Easy? Cenred's clinging to his tax wagons like mad. His land's in turmoil. His biggest border line is with Camelot, and yet the kingdoms are barely engaged in mutual trade. Mercia pays Essetir no attention. After Bayard signed peace treaty with Uther, he prefers to deal with the northerners and enjoys the Wide Bay, and Bayard only considers Essetir as a land through which the road to Londinium lies.”

“Is there nothing Cenred can do to make…er… life better? To make his kingdom more prosperous?”

“Would that he wanted to. He’s like his uncle, King Quichelm. Many years ago, Quichelm waged war on Nemeth to block Nemeth's trade road to Tír-Mòr... But Uther stepped in and invaded Essetir to make him sign the treaty with Rodor."

“And Quichelm stopped the war?”

“Sure thing he did. He couldn’t fight both, Uther and Rodor. Quichelm signed the treaty and left Nemeth alone, and it was his downfall. His brothers and nephews didn’t forgive him for this weakness. Soon, Cenred became king, but Goddess, at what price… After Quichelm’s death, Cenred had to fight Quichelm’s brothers and nephews in his pursuit for power, and since it wasn’t easy to rouse the smallfolk for civil war, he had to hire mercenaries. That’s how he got in debt in the first place, and he hasn’t managed to get out ever since. We were ordered to fight the guards of the tax wagons and to deliver them...”

The woods around them, so full of whispers just a moment ago, suddenly went silent. Merlin heard Lancelot's breath stop. He stared up at the winking moon, and noticed a restless shadow cross the cerpent. Merlin knew Lancelot was the last man to be called a coward, but he stepped back, heading for the trees, once he realized that the mass of darkness in the sky was not a raincloud.

It was a living thing, a source of ancient power older than thousand years, someone who has seen entire civilizations rise and fall. As Merlin kept staring skyward, he soon began to distinguish the giant silhoutte of swaying wings, lean body and sharp claws. Kilgharrah, the great dragon, landed on the meadow, his wings making the tree tops bend as he was fapping them hard to make his landing smooth. Merlin smiled, looking into his eyes, the giant moons of fire and gold. His horns were green, but scales running down his back were somewhat swampy brown, pointy and edgy from his wise head to his massive tail. Kilgharrah's tail lashed sideway as he landed, and he thumped the trunk of the trees as he folded his wings. As Kilgharrah was studying him, Merlin took a deep bow.

"I was beginning to fear you'd not answer my call," Merlin said, straightening his back.

"Merlin," Kilgharrah's tone suggested the dragon would be smiling if his jaws permitted him. "I could not resist a dragonlord, even if I wanted to."

"WHAT? IT TALKS?" Lancelot gasped, not daring to step from the forest shadows.

"Who is your friend?" Kilgharrah turned his giant head to the voice rising from the velvet darkness and looked as though he was considering sending some flames to greet the stranger.

Lancelo stepped out of the shadow, treading carefully, as though along thin ice.

"I'm... I'm... I'm Lancelot."

Merlin noticed Kilgharrah's eyelids fall as the dragon was squinting.

"Of course! Sir Lancelot, the bravest and most noble of them all," Kilgharrah nodded.

"I'm...I'm not sure that's true, actually," Lancelot mumbled.

"We shall see," Kilgharrah's voice boomed as he was snorting plumes of smoke. "For now, there are more pressing things at hand. Merlin, how have you come across the cursed thing that seized your lifepower?"

"What?!" Merlin knew his voice was a bit too high as he started taking his tunic off, nearly ripping it apart. "Cursed? The sunstone is cursed?"

"The sunstone?" Kilgharrah's neck moved, and Merlin could feel the heat of his nostrils as the dragon kept sniffing the glowing gem. "This thing may go by many names, but it's true name is Καρδιά του Φοίνικα."

"Heart of the Phoenix," Merlin repeated, touching the stone. "What does it mean?"

"It means what it means. You are wearing the heart the was once beating, filling the world with the song of fire. It's the Phoenix's heart."

"And why is it cursed?"

"Removing one's heart from the body is often mortal, Merlin. Haven't your physician told you that much?"

"You mean..."

"The phoenix was killed and his heart used for magic of Dark Arts, the darkest known to the Isle of the Blessed," Kilgharra said in a tone Merlin didn't quite expect to hear from the massive giant, a fire in flesh - the tone of fright.

Merlin stared at Kilgharrah, and for a moment it seemed to him tears were welling up in those golden moons - however, it turned out they were just gleaming brighter.

"Can you help me?" Merlin pleaded, his voice as thin as paper panchement. "Please? Like give me an enchantment that will help me heal, but not kill Arthur at the same time?"

"Mayhaps I can. But enchantment? No, the enchanemnt would not suffice, for the heart of the phoenix is beyond enchantments and spells. This stone is thrice cursed: by blood, by flesh and by bone. By murder, adultery and theft. To atone for the terrible crimes of killing the phoenix, someone had the power to lay yet another spell on it... Who could it be?" Kilgharrah began to sniff at the stone the way the hunting hounds hope to take the trace. "Oh, but Queen Andor, her hand is seen. How curious... Her enchantment is powerful... the one to put on this stone would give his lifepower to the one wearing another stone... thus, it would be a pure sacrifice that would wash away the curse.... Merlin, even a creature of magic like me, however wise and ancient, can't hope to undo the dread of the sunstone's power. But I know who can."

"Speak, oh, please, speak..."

"The bird of phoenix is the magic of the air itself. Phoenix is the Ancient One, born, like me, out of the essence which binds all the things together. The phoenix whose heart graces your chest lived peacefully in the Northern Lands. Hers was the freedom of the northern sky, hers was the winds to roam unshackledly. There lived another soul, many years ago, a girl who wanted to be as free as the bird and as unshackled as the wind. But her wishes could not come to pass, for her winds were cut and she was caged by the dark tradition of her tribe. Since the day of her birth she was meant to become the Priestess of the Old Ways, the Keeper of the magic of blood, the magic of shadows, the magic of steel, the magic of potions," Kilgharrah said Darkly. "Boodikha was her name, beauty was her face and sadness was her heart, for she didn't want to follow the Old Ways. But the Isle of the Blessed doesn't stand defiance, and when she refused to serve the Tripple Goddess, she was cursed and exiled from the Isle."

Why did it seem as dark as if the night was starless? Why did it feel like the darkness had risen from the past through Kilgharrah's voice, high to tower above the wide world? In fact, the moon was shimmering, pale and icy as it was, and the stars were speaking, but Merlin was all into Kilgharrah's story.

"Left in the woods alone was she, forbidden to return. Death would be her sentence had she laid her foot on the Isle of the Blessed again. And yet even in the perilous time like that, fate smiled at her. A horseman noticed the wronged girl and asked her what she was doing alone in the thicket so dark and grim."

"Come time, and the two fell in love. The boy, Branwen, took the girl to his tribe, the druid settlement it was. The boy was not a simple one, a prince he was, the prince of dragons, they called him, for in his blood was the power to summon the great dragon."

"Branwen wished to marry Boodikha, but he begged her to keep the secret of her origins, for the druids and the dragonlords were the enemies of the Isle of The Blessed. Long ran their feud, as early as the dawn of time of men. Long had the druids forgotten the tales of the days when the tribe of men was one..."

"But the truth of Boodikha's origins passed her lips once, not long before the wedding, and the wrath of druids knew no limits. She had to run or stay and be bathed in dragonflames, and Branwen was seized and sent back to his family castle, the Dragon Tower of Corbenius. And this was the end of the love of the young hearts."

"Many a year had passed before the day when the dragon prince Branwen, who went by the name of the Fisher King and ruled the Castle of Corbenius, heard the tales of the lady of rare beauty who serced at court of King Virico of the Land of Daobeth. It was said that her beauty matched the splendor of the sun and the tenderness of spring. It was said that her beauty could make the flowers blossom even in winter. So much was said about this lady that Branwen, the Fisher King, decided to go and see."

"How joyous was his heart when he recognized his dear Boodikha at the court of King Virico! How happy was he, how charmed... Not a boy was he, but the dragon king, lord of the Dragon Tower. Nobody could defy him anymore, and none could make him part with Boodikha."

"But Boodikha's heart was cold, for terribly had she suffered. She could not marry him, for she was fearing his family, his mighty brothers who, too, were dragonlords and would not welcome her beneath the castle roof. Branwen, the Fisher King, told her he would abandon his family's nest and go with her to the end of the world. Long kept he persuading her, until she finally agreed to marry him. But Boodikha asked for a present for her wedding. She wanted the Bird of the Phoenix, the bird that was said to roam the sky of the Northern Lands. She wanted it alive and unharmed. So happy was Branwen the Fisher King that his beloved Boodikha agreed to marry him that he vowed to tame the phoenix bird for her."

"And tame he did. The day he presnented Boodikha with the phoenix bird was the happiest of his life. She asked him to wait for her at the Dragon Tower, for one moon, as the tradition demanded. Little did Branwen the Fisher King know... When he went to Dragon Tower, Boodikha bedded King Virico and sang an evil song, the song that seduced seven of Camelot knights. One by one, they succumbed to her power and at her command, they became a terrifying and brutal force that rode through the lands of druids leaving death and destruction in their wake. So she had repaid to the dragonlords who threw her out of the tribe when she was about to wed Branwen. The knights grew ever more brutal, and soon the dragonlords had to respond to the tremulous news about the knights of Medihr tearing the druid lands apart. When they attacked her, Boodikha killed two dragons and their dragonlords."

"How could she?" Merlin asked, daring to break Kilgharrah's story for the first time. 

"Soon after being thrown out of the druid tribe she returned to the Isle of the Blessed - even though death was promised to her if she returned. But she feared death not. For what is death for the one who had just lost the love of her life? She came there eager to accept death, and instead was welcomed and instructed into the depth of the darkest of all sorceries. Apart from Sidhe, Merlin, there are four ancient creatures of magic, or Ancient Ones, as they call us. The dragons used to speak for fire, the phoenix was the child of sky. Through unicorn would ring the earth. To Questing Beast the waters flowed. Four ancient creatures were we. Killing the ancient one earned a curse to the hand that killed it."

"But I killed the Questing Beast!"

"And have you not forgotten what happened to your mother after you did? It was your luck you've locked the curse into Nimueh... And only with the power of the ancient one can another ancient one be killed."

"And when Arthur killed the unicorn, the draught fell upon the kingdom!"

"Indeed."

"Wait, what does "only with the power of the ancient one can another ancient one be killed" mean? Are you saying that you can be killed only by a phoenix? Or a unicorn? Or a questing beast?"

"By their _power_ , young warlock. And there are means to extract that power, the means I'd not best speak of. That was what Boodikha did. She killed the phoenix bird, the one gifted to her by Branwen the Fisher King, and gained the power to destroy the dragons, for some time, of course. She thought all the dragonlords would come after her, and hope to kill them all, but only two came. And two she killed. When the news reached the other dragonlords, they were after her at once. They burnt the Castle of Daobeth, where she had served at court, and their wrath followed her until she was dead. It was only after Boodikha herself was killed that the Knights of Medhir finally grew still."

"And what of Branwen the Fisher King?"

"He suffered for capturing the phoenix, too. His mighty kingdom suffered from the curse of the terrible power. All the great dragons inhabiting The Dragon Tower turned into Wyverns and could no longer talk. The kingdom was reduced to a wasteland, all the magic creatures deserted it and fled to the lands of Andor and Camelot, and the Fisher King's land has remained that way to this very day. Some believe the Fisher King's still alive, kept from death by his magic and by the sense of guilt for capturing the Phoenix Bird, waiting for the day when he could atone for his crime..."

"This stone is made of the heart of the phoenix the Fisher King had captured! If he wears it instead of me willingly, he will finally die and atone for his crime, right?"

"Perhaps he will. It is worth trying, young warlock."

"Will you take me to the Dragon Tower?"

"Merlin! I am not a horse!" the dragon thundered.

"I...just..."

"Even if you commanded, I would not. The land is cursed; the dragon that would appear in the sky of the Perilous Land would too, turn into a Wyvern. This is a fate I would not suffer, for am the last of my kind."

"Well, of course. I'll go."

"This is not a task to be undertaken lightly, Merlin. People of the north call the area The Perilous Lands. Few who have ever ventured there have lived to tell the tale. You'll need help."

"What d'you say?" Merlin turned to Lancelot who looked as though he had swallowed his tongue. "Ever been to the Perilous Lands?"


	27. King's Tourney

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen gets to spend her morning with Gwaine for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen POV

Sleep was a privilege she thought she had not earned yet. When the curtains in her house got brightened by the pink smile of dawn, she was lying in her bed, eyes wide open and a kitchen knife under her pillow. It was a folly, of course. Gwen knew too well that neither a kitchen knife nor a proper longsword would stop Yrien's guards if the Councilor of Camelot ordered them to drag her from beneath her bedsheets, squealing and squirming. Still, she felt more confident when she could trace her fingers along the hilt of the knife. 

In point of fact, she had spent most of the nighttime trying to think of the best way to compose her future. She could not be promised safety so long as she remained in the Lower Town. Rion may have grown a beard and become as handsome as a prince from the folk tales, but his words have proved to be deceitful in the past. _We do matter, Gwen. We can change it, you and me. We can make Arthur king._ His words echoed in her memory, fresh and vivid, as though just yesterday they had been talking in the empty castle, plotting against the terrible reign of Uther while most of the people were feasting the Summer Feast. _Has it been it a lie from the very start? Did Rion want both, Uther and Arthur to die? Or was the assassination at Arthur a surprise for him, too? Rion seems too young to be so cruel. Yet does cruelty really have age limits? Anybody can be cruel, even a lady as fair as the summer evening._

Gwen didn't want to waste her night on guesswork about Rion. She didn't want to uncover the truth about whether the nephew of King Ryence knew somebody would try shoot Arthur and his knights from crossbows in the forests of Brechfa. _The truth would serve no purpose. It is not my past that lacks order, it is my future._

Was it better to stay in Camelot? Was it worth trying to leave and go to Denaria, to Galla Dindrane and work in the household there, as Gaius once suggested? Could there be some sense in going to Ealdor, to Merlin's mother for some time? Gwen was trying to weigh every opportunity she had. She knew that traveling to Denaria would not be an unfazed walk through the garden. The Brechfa road started to the south of the Castle of Camelot, in Lushwood, and ran southward until it reached the castle of Woodspeak where the road turned into a fork. Those who'd turn east after the castle of Woodspeak would pass Plainsville and reach the castle of Chemary at the Southern Road. Those who'd turn west after the castle of Woodspeak would reach the castle of Brechfa. From Brechfa, the road ran southward, straight to the castle Gedref. 

The problem was in the hosts. The king could have left some soldiers at the castles Woodspeak, Chemary and Brechfa, which meant there would be king's soldiers everywhere down the Brechfa road, before and after the fork at Woodspeak. _A lonely girl traveling the land only recently freed of Cenred's imposters... Ryence and Yrien would have more comfort killing me alone, on the road. And not that I will find many trusted companions to go south now. Gwaine promised to help and he said he'd be watching over me, yet a girl and a swordsman are still too feeble a force to feel safe when the king's patrols may be looking for you. And after Yrien showed her true nature, I will not feel safe unless a bloody garrison accompanies me._

Besides, Denaria and Brechfa had never been connected by well-known roads. They said only those who had been to the castle of Denaria before would find their way again. To get to the castle of Denaria from the castle of Brechfa, one had to go through the plains that would eventually turn into swampy terrains where many a man have drowned. The commoners would tell the tales that made blood freeze in your veins. They said that once the plains of Denaria were fertile and safe, until the day when the High Priestess from the Isle of the Blessed was killed there. She died cursing the land, and ever since that day, Denaria plains were consumed by swamps. 

Ealdor seemed a safer option. _I could travel through Ascetir, or I could travel down the Southern Road and turn east at the Crossinggate, the way we did when we went to help Merlin's mother._ Gwen had no doubt Hunith would be glad to see her, for the kind-hearted woman still remembered everything Gwen, Morgana and Arthur had done to help protect the village and its harvest from bandits. However, she couldn't allow herself to go to Ealdor without Merlin's consent, and Merlin, according to what Gwaine had told her yesterday, was _off to some perilous destination_ and couldn't be reached any time soon. _I may still be watched by the king, I may still be dangerous, and if I make Hunith risk her life for me... If anything happens to Ealdor because of me... It would be horrible. I would be the cause of death of Arthur's father and Merlin's mother. A friend to dream of,_ she thought, smirking sadly.

She thought she would not go anywhere for a day or two, but she decided it would not harm to be prepared to leave at once, the instant she starts suspecting something was wrong. A pack with the most essential things would be something most useful in her situation. _A pity I have few coppers left... Well, I could sell some of my dresses... Good thing Morgana has gifted me some of her own dresses she didn't want to wear... Someone might give a handsome price at the market for a good wool dress..._ She had one silk dress Morgana had gifted to her, too, but she didn't have the strength to sell it yet. The day when Arthur kissed her in her house, she put that silk dress on and imagined she'd one day wear it to the castle, the day Arthur would not be afraid to marry a low-born girl like her.  

Someone knocked on her window in a playful manner, trying to drum a tune on the old wood. When she opened the shutters, she nearly hit Gwaine on the nose. He was standing at her window, with yet another bouquet behind his back, hidden so poorly it made her laugh. He was casting a long shadow in the chilly air of the summer morning. The sky was clear and bluing as the sun was dripping like a ripe peach with the pinkish light. 

"You're stealing those flowers?" Gwen inquired with a smile that was still making her mouth twitch. "You said you were running out of coins just yesterday."

"Who said I was paying for these flowers? A gallant sir must know how to find a gift for his princess..."

"You’re as much a sir as I’m a princess. You mean to tell me, gallant _sir_ , that you picked the best flowers left after king's arrival off the roads, washed them in the morning dew and are presenting them to me?"

"Gooddess, how could you think such an ill thing of me?" Gwaine's smile was a study of content. "May I come in?"

"You may... It's just... Whatever, I best not keep you waiting."

The sight of her street, however silent and calm, still made Gwen a little nervous. She let Gwaine in, pinching her toes from the gusts of chill that stung her feet. 

"Be seated," she invited him at the table. "I haven't even washed my face. You wait here, and I'll be... be back soon."

“As my princess commands." 

Gwen went out to the backyard to splash some water on her face from the large basin beside the backdoor. The morning air was cold on her skin barely covered with the sleeping gown. _Goddess, I must look awful. I have scarcely slept at all._ However, when she glanced at her own reflection in the inky waters of the basin, she was surprised to find out her fears were silly. Gwen took some time to appreciate the view of the castle, a tremendous beast of thick walls and strong towers. King's banners were flapping in the wind on the walls, bear prints amidst yellow colours. 

Inside, Gwaine was whistling the same tune he had tried to drum on her window. The sunlight was about to blossom with a yellow shadow game on her shutters. The world seemed a little brighter, a little more hopeful. She had a guest, gallant and brave, although nowhere near as handsome as the previous men she'd taken interests in. _Well, after all, Arthur and Rion are both princes_. 

"You're as fair as this morning," Gwaine complemented her, rising to his feet. "Princess."

She enjoyed his attention, but his manner was a bit too rushing, and she didn't want to let him believe she was so easily approachable. No matter what wrongs befell her, the wrath of Yrien and the loss of her job, the disappearance of Morgana, Arthur and Merlin, she still carried the sense of dignity that would not allow her to jump into Gwaine's arms after two bouquets of wildflowers. _I've seen him three times in my life. He may be not what I expect of him at all._

"Have you seen me throw a vase at Lancelot yesterday?" she asked innocently.

"I have."

"Then you'll know what'll hit once you call me princess again," she smiled. "You came to see I'm fine? Here I am. Fine but hungry."

"We can't feast on bouquets, I guess..."

"We can't," Gwen nodded. "I can go to the market and buy some milk and honey and geese eggs, and I'll cook some porridge."

"I don’t doubt that you will, but not before noon."

"Why? The market opens at..."

"It's the King's Tourney, remember? I told you yesterday."

"King's Tourney... And you mean to tell me..."

"Nothing works until the jousting session is over. You want to watch? Come on, why don't you go with me? They'll be selling food at the tourney. Sweet corn, and baked apples, and forest berries, and some bread, too. It'll be fun, I promise!"

Gwen remember the day Gwaine escaped Yrien's guards in the Tavern of the Rising Sun. She had never seen men fight the way the long-haired lad would fight: throwing chairs at his foes, jumping from table to table, using the advantage of the height as his sword danced with the swords of two attackers. _He doesn't look like the one to be fond of jousting. He seems so far from jousting and he mocks the knigths with his sirs all the time. Interesting. Where could the lad like him grow fond of jousting?_

"Have you woken that early just to go to the tourney?"

"Of course!" Gwaine exclaimed, as though Gwen struggled to understand the most common truth. "We won't get a decent view unless we go to the tournament fields early!"

"Goddess... What fun can there be in watching men act boys and throw each other out of their saddles with long sticks?" Gwen asked, thinking about sweet corn and baked apples. 

***

It took Gwen some time to change and put on a modest brown dress, the sort of outfit that would not draw any attention and allow her to look like many other maids and girls in the crowd. _But Gwaine's too handsome to pass the curious eyes undetected._

Gwaine had been right about the fuss. It looked as though the crowd was besieging the Silver Gate. In truth the hundreds of spectators were simply too much for the Gate to digest, and the line appeared and got thick and flooded the Merchant's Square. The sunlight was pouring from the innocently blue sky the way the rain had been pouring for two of the previous days. Many people were still carrying the flowers in their hands and singing songs. It was the second and biggest day of celebrations.

"I told you you could've put on any dress, we'd have got here faster," Gwaine tried to hide a notice of complaint from his tone, much to Gwen's amusement.

"You don't need to worry that much. It's not that we're invited into the king's lodge anyway, right"

"We are not. Still..."

The crowd was thick and wild, everybody was rushing to get past the Silver Gate. The guards have been withdrawn, for even dozens of spearmen would have served a ceremonial purpose, at best. Gwaine took her by the hand, to not let them be separated by the flow. Gwen recalled the sensation of intense heat and tremor when his strong hand grabbed hers for the first time. This time, it felt different: there was something soothing about the idea that her hand was locked in the hand of Gwaine, that he was holding her tight and making her know he was caring about her. She felt as though her palm was pulsing from excitement.

"It's a good omen, I tell ya," she heard a not the most sober voice when they were passing the shadow of the Silver Gate. "This the first tourney of the new king. And the tourney to celebrate the war's end, and the tourney for prince Rion's sixteenth name day! The tourney's thrice a blessing, 'rybody says!"

"Oh, piss off," an ever drunker voice replied. "Blessing. Ha! You saw the number of knights that arrived at the tourney? Imagine feeding the lotta them. Food stocks are low, bread costs twice as much what it used to cost in May!"

"Had no dragon burning the food stock in May, you fool!"

"This right. No dragon in May. And no dragon now. Piss on that dragon, and on the dragonslayer and his mother's magic ways."

This drunk conversation didn't please her. _What's on the sober mind is on the drunk tongue_ , they used to say. Ryence's scheme was working: the glory of Arthur the Dragonslayer had been ripped apart. There remained those who were rather dubious about the whole idea, about Arthur being a wraith and the evil magic of Gedref Labyrinth running in his late mother's blood and his late uncle Tristan's blood, but what they gained in wit they lacked in bravery. People loved the new king dearly and mourned the death of Uther the Great, but Arthur's name seemed to be rotting on their tongues.

The dozens of merchants and traders came to the fields near the tournament sight, too, unloaded their goods and were beginning to set up the stalls for an informal market of their own, the queer place the commoners would call _bazaar_ , for a lot of goods that appeared there were queer and came from across the sea, from the sunny lands that never knew winter and snow.

The place _was_ queer. There were queer birds, thrice the size of the biggest pigeon Gwen would see in the Lower Town, and more colourful than any dress of silk the noble ladies had ever worn. There were queer fruits and pies, often smelling too strang to taste, there was kitchenware for all tastes and all purses, and dresses and shoes, and pottery that was promised to never break, and carpets. There were goods for the nobles as well, shining armors with ornaments the boys couldn't take their eyes off, and dresses for the ladies that would not appear in the shops on the regular terms, and jewelry and blades. The tourney's bazaar was a unique place, for there all people, stinky and perfumed, tall and short, men and women, nobles and low-born would walk together, side by side, without guards, ast though they really belonged with the one kingdom.

"Look at that!" Gwen pointed her finger at a giant bird in a silver cage. "I can't believe it!"

"Can't believe what?" Gwaine asked, handing her a couple of baked apples and a loaf of white bread baked with berries.

"It's yellow and blue and green and... Goddess, I remember a bird like that used to live in Lady Sommerset chambers... She once forgot to lock the cage and it kept flying across the castle and all the guards of Uther were trying to hunt it down... It was so funny!"

They both laughed, as they were walking out of the dense rows, heading for the small hill with a better view over the jousting field.

"The brave sirs using spears against the terrible bird, funny indeed," Gwaine couldn't stop his laughter. "Did Uther proclaim the bird magical to make the guards work better?"

"Gwaine! You should not... People still..." Gwen urged him to drop the magic jokes as they headed for the hill. The pavilions were glimmering under the sun, behind the jousting lines and the spectators's seats, the crowd was cheering, although no knights were seen as of yet. But there were banners, snapping in the wind.

"That's what frightens me most of all," Gwaine said when they sat down on the hillside, with baked apples and bread and berries. "How does Arthur see himself reclaim the crown when the smallfolk still shower his father with praise and call him Uther the Great?"

Gwen noticed the king's lodge was still empty.

"And how is people's love for his father supposed to stop Arthur from reclaiming the crown?" she asked in a measured voice.

"They share Uther's hatred to magic, see. Many of them. Many enough to cause troubles to Arthur's reign."

"And what makes you think Arthur doesn't hate magic, too?"

"Hate magic? If he hated magic, would he... I mean, why would he hate magic?"

"Have you forgotten what his father did to magic? You think he skipped that part when fostering his son?"

"Maybe Arthur has his own values. Maybe he's made of sterner stuff than Uther imagined."

"Maybe. Yet he'd be stupid to change all the things overnight, and I grant you, he's far from stupid."

"Why would making magic legal be stupid?"

"Not making it legal, but making it legal overnight, since... Why are you so interested in that?"

For a moment, the shadow that crossed Gwaine's face seemed the one where secrets would hide, but then he lowered his voice to a sinister whisper and told her:

"Oh, I just happen to be a sorcerer myself. The dark wizard that steals fair maidens from their houses at the wolves' hour."

Gwen threw a wild berry at him, and he caught it with his mouth. She laughed. The cloudless sky, the sun, the summer... _All in all, it was a great idea to come._

***

People started crying out in unisons when the jousting session began. Gwen didn't care much about what was happening on the field, but she loved to study Gwaine's expression shift from nervous to triumphant when riders would crash together. Lances were crashing, and some girls around them would close their eyes whenever a man woulf fall off his horse, but Gwen had seen many tournaments before, and melees where things had been a lot more bloody and a lot less spectacular.

Gwen was surprised to watch Rion ride, too. He did seem too young to hold his lance properly, but it seemed Leon had taught him a trick or two during their practice sessions. However, a trick or two were not enough against Sir Tawton Dindrane, son of one of Uther's greatest warlords Demeth Dindrane. Gwen noticed that Tawton's mother, Anna, was seated next to the king in the lodge, while the king's sister enjoyed a moderate seat that couldn't match the splendor of her look.

Even when Rion was thrown onto earth, he rose to wave his hand and to bow down to the crowd who went wild for him. It was his first tourney, after all, and it was not his fault he came against the legendary Sir Tawton in his first ride.

"You really like it?" Gwen asked, when she saw Gwaine'e eyes so full with joy and the shimmer of the pavilions and the glimmering armors reflecting in his eyes, the eyes so fit for the bright summer morning.

"Goddess knows I do!" he smiled, chewing some bread eagerly.

"Mind telling me why?"

"I think it's beautiful! I think it's the same glory as in the battle, the same energy and fever, yet here it's sort of... sort of peaceful!"

"They are knocking each other out of their saddles!"

"And nobody gets hurt."

"Are you blind? Have you seen sir Orien fall?"

"Alright. Nobody _dies_ here. It's all a game. A warrior's game, but a game nonetheless. And have you heard the bloody sum they'll pay the winner? One can earn a fortune!"

"You have any idea how much those shimmering armors cost?"

"Now that's the point!" Gwaine said fevereshly. "That's precisely the point! I swear I could've unhorsed each and every one of them if I had an armor and a horse, which I would have if I had been born to a right family... It's unfair they refuse to give a horse and an armor to the low-borns for the time of the tourney!" 

***

In the final ride it was Sir Tawton Dindrane against Sir Vidor Gaheris. Vidor was the younger son of Safir Gaheris, the heir to the lordship of Daobeth. At twenty-one, he was one of the youngest riders on the field, but he had ridden brilliantly in all the four jousts, unhorsing men so violently that they seemed to fly out of their saddles, their legs spread in the air. He had arrived at Camelot to take part in the tourney, and was an honored guest of King Ryence and Prince Rion, they said.

Sir Vidor leaned forward as he sent his horse against Sir Tawton, but the older knight shifted his seat rather deftly and the lance of Vidor did nothing more than to turn harmlessly against the shield with a green dragon on it. It was for the first time Sir Vidor who had to fight to keep his seat, but keep he did. The crowd gasped, and Sir Vidor turned his mount around and spurred forward to meet Sir Tawton at the hardest gallop Gwen could recall at the tourney. Sir Tawton's tactics couldn't help him this time; when he shifted his seat, Vidor shifted his, too, and both lances exploded, and Sir Tawton was sent to the dirt with an awful clangor, and he kept rolling, his cloak wrapping around him.

The crowd went wild for the young champion, who took his hemlet off and went to bend the knee before his king. There he stood, in the ripe sunlight, showered with the people's love.

Gwen and Gwaine chose not to stay for the melee. They returned to the Lower Town through the Silver Gate, where, as Gwaine had predicted, the inns and the market opened soon after the jousting session was over. Gwen would be lying if she said she had not enjoyed it. She had been out to the tournament with somebody who seemed caring and protective, somebody who kept calling her princess even though she'd threatened to throw a vase at him, somebody who'd buy her apples and bread baked with berries, and somebody who would hold her hand in the most tender way and whose eyes, with all the glory of the summer reflected in them, could make her forget all the horrible things that had happened to her.

They went to the market and bought honey, milk, geese eggs, berries and some more bread, and when they got back to her house, Gwen cooked some porridge and boiled the eggs to serve a very late and lazy breakfast.

“I hope I have not offended you in any way?" Gwaine asked casually. "You looked not very pleased most of the time...”

“Oh, you have not. You really haven’t Gwaine, it was a marvelous morning! My grim face, it has nothing to do with you.”

“Care to share it?”

She emitted a burdensome sigh.

“I just can’t look at them! Can’t look at all those people, at the commoners, my neighbors cheering at tourneys, drinking at inns and dancing and singing… When I know what’s coming to our doorstep…”

“And _what_ is coming to your doorstep?”

“You really think I expect Arthur to live a peaceful life of a farmer while his father’s murderer sits the throne? I know he’ll bring swords and storm the citadel and put his foes to swords, and Ryence will summon his people to fight back, and the war will be bloody and this time, it will be real!”

Gwen noticed the teardrops were falling to her porridge, and she felt it was such a silly thing to do - to lash out at Gwaine, to put all her worries on the table and ruin the perfect morning they spent together.

“Oh, princess, you’re such a sweet little bird," Gwaine said, caressing her hand. "Really. Worrying about all those drunkards we’ve seen today…”

“They are not drunkards.”

“Remember how you saw one man retch on his wife?”

“Oh, Gwaine…” Gwen laughed, remembering the awful scene.

“Even though I know little of Arthur – sorry I don’t use the titles, I don’t know what he is going to call himself soon, but understand this: he is not going to attack Camelot and storm the citadel. I know it.”

“You really do?”

“Yes. I may not be a _sir_ , but I've been to his council and heard him say it with my own muddy ears.”

Gwen was not sure she could trust his words. It seemed as though he was speaking whatever would bring calm to her worries.

“Then how is Arthur going to win his kingdom back? With Merlin?”

“Why are you so skeptical about Merlin?”

“Because he’s just like me! He’s nothing but a loyal servant, and when we try to have our voices heard, we often get ourselves into trouble!”

For some reason, her objection made Gwaine laugh for some time.

“Oh, Gwen, trust me, I think Arthur _has_ heard Merlin’s voice… Many more times than you care to imagine. Arthur has a plan, we’ll hear of him soon, I am sure.” 


	28. Old Races

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Ryence and Anna Dindrane enjoy their time in the king's lodge during the tourney.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King Ryence POV

Ryence was walking to the jousting field. Lady Yrien had broken her fast alone that morning and was off to the field a lot earlier than her brother. So engrossed seemed Yrien that she could scarcely pay any attention to the protocol. _Small wonder_ , Ryence thought. _It's Rion's first tourney, and he will be one of the first riders to appear, and Yrien's there to behead all the people if Rion's unsaddled and injured. I must talk to her about the lad. He's no longer the green boy he used to be, he will be proclaimed a prince tomorrow and Sagramore will start providing his guidance into matters of ruling the kingdom._

Ryence hadn't broken his fast, too. Yesterday’s feast, dedicated to celebrating the end of war, had been too heavy, and the king had to drink twice as much wine from Nemeth to wash down bacon, fish fried with lemons and onions, goose eggs and wild strawberry pie. _Rion and his squires must be in the pavilion, just like all the other knights who dream to win the great prize measured in gold and glory_.

Not that the Treasury was so full of coins that Ryence could be spending oaks right and left, but he thought that knights and commoners alike would compare the prize money with Uther's tourney, and he thought lowering the sum of the tourney which was meant to celebrate both, the victory in war _and_ Rion's name day, was silly.

Cynric didn't object. The Royal Treasurer had already ridden to the fields, in his litter with purple silk curtains, the richest one in the castle. Commoners were coming out in hundreds to watch the noble games, and the sky had finally blossomed with innocent blue and the lemon sun was rising, showering the castle with juicy light. The soil had dried, but remained a little soft and wet, the best conditions for the knights that were about to fly out of their saddles.

The shouts of the crowd composed the air into a vibrant mass paraded by hundreds of voices. The knights were already at the jousting field. The banners were snapping in the warm wind and Ryence smiled at the sight of participants, in the shining armors, nervous and excited as though they were marching into a real fight. Most were young, bold and daring, their thirst for glory and gold would entertain the commoners and turn the jousting field into ragged torn soil.

The royal lodge was meant for the king and his royal guest. Under Uther's reign, the royal guest's seat used to be occupied by Morgana of House Gorlois, the king's ward, daughter of his warlord Ector Gorlois. Morgana's privileged position at court had upset a lot of ladies who considered Morgana arrogant, self-centered and cold. Ryence knew, of course, that the girl was not to blame - Uther needed Morgana at court for she was the most legitimate heir to the lordship of Asgorath, the most populous Western territory of the king's throne. However, Morgana was gone, abducted by the Dark Witch, she was to be proclaimed dead at the next Council, and Ryence had to think of inviting a different guest, and his choice was Anna Dindrane.

"It is so kind of you to sit with a foolish grey-haired hen like me, your grace," Anna said when she tottered up to the King's lodge, dressed in a beautiful green gown, her favorite color.

 _The same dress she had worn to the election after Uther's death_ , Ryence recalled. _Is she sending a message?_

"It's kind of you to have accepted an invitation from an old bear that's about to turn into a fur coat," Ryence jested back and kissed her hand. "Please be seated."

Ryence noted Yrien's brown eyes, burning and watching Anna the way a wolf would watch the sheep he chose to slaughter.

"I've heard our prince will grace the field with his first ever ride," Anna told Ryence, giggling as though she was gossiping with a kitchen maid.

"So have I," the king nodded. "The lad wants to draw the last nerves out of his mother, I bet."

 _As if there are any nerves left to draw. If I go to the spirit world before Rion comes of age, Yrien will be Queen Regent. Goddess, save the kingdom from it, and save Anna Dindrane from Yrien's hospitality. I still need to visit Gaius and talk to the poor man._ Ryence gestured at the servants, meaning to have some refreshments brought at once.

"Lady Yrien must be happy to see her son mature into the young and promising knight," Anna said, trying to hide her hair from the blazing sunlight.

"We both know Rion's too far from knight, Anna," Ryence snorted. "He might have taken a few riding lessons from Sir Leon, but I won't be surprised if he fails to raise his lance today. It's the art of ruling that must be on his mind."

"It's good for the boy to try unhorse other men to keep his blood hot."

"It's easy to say for you, my lady. You've got granddaughters who won't ride today and won't injure themselves when falling."

"Why, your grace, but my _son_ will ride today. You couldn't expect Demeth Dindrane's son to refuse the chance to show himself?"

_Bloody hell. I'm getting old. How could I forget Sir Tawton will ride, too?_

"He's far too famous to seek the tourney glory, I thought. So much the better for us. The more participants from the great houses, the louder the commoners will cheer. Sir Orien will ride, I've heard, Sir Keres..."

"Trevelyan will ride, too."

"Is your niece happy about it?"

"She was trying to dissuade him at the feast yesterday, your grace. However, telling her husband he's too old for tourney was not her brightest idea, especially after all the wine he had tasted."

"Speaking about feasts... Sir Vidor was presented to me yesterday," Ryence said impassively. "He will ride, too. I must admit, his resemblance to Uther is striking."

"Oh, it really is, your grace. However, I don't think that apart from you and me there are many people in this castle who would remember the face of young Uther," she smiled. "Has Sir Vidor come alone? I was hoping his grandmother would be accompanying him."

"I fear Vyda Gaheris is too old for traveling such distances, my lady."

"Of course," Anna sighed. "Age comes for all of us, gruesome as it may be. My late husband's sister Galla is also afraid to travel at such an age, she fears to die on the road. And she's much to govern in Denaria, she says. But I thought that on the occasion as _such_ Vyda would arrive, after all..."

"What occasion? The tourney?"

Before Anna could reply, horns were blowing, and Ryence and his honored guest had to rise to their feet as the knights mounted their horses and lined up to greet their king. Nothing could please the crowd more than the thirty-two brave riders who were about to fight for the title of the champion. It was a whirlwind of colors on the field: cloaks were white, bronze, indigo, red, yellow, blue, grey, and green, and shields had sigils drawn upon them, the green dragon of Tawton Dindrane amused the crowd the most. _Anna would never have the courage to put a dragon on the shield of her son if Uther were alive._ _She would not dare._

Ryence and Anna were back to their seats as the lists were being announced. Of all the members of the great houses, only few chose to participate. Among them Sir Keres Gornemant, the man in his late twenties, whose brother died after the Dragon's attack not a month ago; he had arrived from Denaria the previous evening to join his brother Nydd and his father Caradol of House Gornemant at the feast. Sir Tawton Dindrane was the legendary knight who fought against Odin's army during the Siege of Gedref and who survived the Second Gwynedd War. Sir Vidor Gaheris was the young grandson of the Lady of Daobeth who participated in the tourney for the first time, Sir Trevelyan Lamorak was the husband of Anna's niece, and Sir Orien Pelles was the husband of Enid Blanchefleur's daughter. The other participants were the members of lesser houses from the castles of Ascetir, Woodspeak, Crossinggate, Brechfa and Chemary, and the knights sworn to Mercia, as well as to Dyfed and Gawant. Ryence also knew the field was short of five participants: Hengest of House Ragnell, Evaine and Aglovale of House Meirchion, all dead. Modron of House Pellinore and Owaine of House Gedref – missing. Ryence shook his head to cast away the chilling thoughts.

"My lady?" Ryence refused to believe Anna had spilled that little detail unintentionally. "On _what_ occasion did you think Vyda would arrive?"

"Your grace, rumour has it Sir Vidor means to marry Ewina, the daughter of your secretary."

"And this news comes from?..."

"Oh, Ewina can't hold her mouth closed for longer than a breath. She told my granddaughter yesterday at the feast. Ravenna said Ewina was already discussing the list of guests to her wedding. She's wet with love, between us."

Ryence chuckled on that. _Why would she tell me about the plans of my Secretary to marry his daughter to Sir Vidor of House Gaheris? What does she hope to achieve by that? I have no need to fear Sagramore. He is so fat he couldn't walk to the tournament. He has no lands and commands no swords. Well, maybe Anna thinks I better knew it. She holds little love to the westerners herself..._

"You heard of the news from the north, my lady?"

"Troubling news, your grace, but not presented to the court as of yet."

"Yet _you_ have heard the news somehow."

"The knights who arrived from Mercia happen to be friends with some of the merchants that think of marrying their heirs to my granddaughters. They mentioned it. And your sister... Your grace, she intended to send two secret patrol groups to find out what is happening across the river Albus, and send she did, but as for the _secret_ part... I'd say a bear would make less noise trying to eat from the kitchenware."

_Careful, Anna. If Yrien learns you've said that, she'll yearn to have your tongue pulled out with hot pincers._

"Anyway, I hope they are back soon, your grace."

_Do you? Or would you rather see them brought back to the castle by the cart, their dead bodies wrapped in the yellow cloaks?_

"And if they are not, can I hope for your assistance, my lady?" Ryence said, sipping on the cool lemonwater.

"Assistance? I am no warrior, your grace. You should look for the one on the field. Oh, look, it must be your nephew. A pity he rides against my son."

It was indeed a pity. Such a pity that everything seemed over even before the riders turned to gallop. Ryence was proud Rion was in the saddle and holding his lance firmly, but when the riders clashed, Rion was unhorsed violently and hit the ground, his armor producing an audible crack. Rion climbed to his feet quickly and the commoners cheered wildly, for the handsome prince was greatly loved by the spectators, and even as he was walking away to the pavilion, more flowers were flying at him than at Sir Tawton. _Small wonder,_ Ryence thought, following Rion with a content gaze _. Tawton could've unhorsed him with his eyes closed. Still, the lad has won the most important battle of his life. To get on the tourney list, he had to get past his mother, and prince he may be, but that's a bloody demanding task when your mother is Yrien Gingawaine._

Anna waved at her son as though she had accidentally come across him in the garden.

"My lady," Ryence resumed. "What if I don't intend to use _swords_ if our worst fears about the north come true? What if I don't require a _warrior_ for assistance?"

"Not the sword... This does sound intriguing, your grace. If it is not the sword that you want to use, then what?"

"Words. I am not Uther, my lady. I will not command to butcher the druids because of my hunger for power. I will not slaughter women and children just because they raise their voices. I will first want to hear what they want to tell me."

"And what is the assistance that you seek from an old hen like me, your grace?"

_An old hen and the only granddaughter of the last Druid Queen would describe the situation better._

"Travel north, my lady. If the rumors about the druids's rebellion are more than just rumours, listen to what the druids have to say. Be kind as to serve as the bridge between the crown and the druids."

"The bridge? Me? Your grace, pray tell, do you still think I hold any value to the druids? I've been living in this castle ever since Uther's conquest. They don't even remember my name, I reckon."

"I've heard differently. You are the only living granddaughter of Queen Andor, my lady, and don't try and feed me the idea that the druids have forgotten _that_. Why else would they wish to defy the new king?"

"Why, indeed?" Anna asked absentmindedly, sipping on her lemon water.

_Careful, Anna. I might join my sister in the line of those who yearn to have your tongue pulled out with hot pincers. If I begin to suspect you play a part in this... If you think I will send my forces across the Albus River to kill druids so that Vyda Gaheris had a more comfortable march on the castle of Camelot, you're so wrong you may lose a head._

"The first explanation that springs to the old man's mind is that they must think there is someone more fitting for rule in the castle. My lady, we did run against each other in the election, but the great lords and ladies have voted. I am the King of Camelot, the new king, the king that Uther never was. I know how the late king would undermine your great house. Please, Anna, prove to be of service to the crown, and I will treat you well."

"What would I get?" the shift in her tone nearly drove Ryence out of his seat, and the clash of the riders at the jousting line didn't frighten him as much as Anna' sudden shrewd attitude.

"You will get lands, your family's ancient holdfast. The castle of Idirsholas will be yours if your prove to be of service, if you help me to soothe the druid's temper."

"Their temper is a wrath. For years they have been hunted like animals in this kingdom. Their demands will be full of sore. They will want magic and special rights to govern themselves, their own judgement courts and tax terms. Will you be ready to discuss it, your grace?"

 _To think that fourteen thousand druids, scattered all over the realm, could turn into such a pain in my arse.._.

"I may be ready to discuss something, but the crown must know what the druids demand first. And I best not learn from rumors, I'd rather hear it from the granddaughter of the last Druid Queen." 


	29. Old Threats, New Directions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana and Alvarr lead a group of druid riders to Idirsholas to inspect the castle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV 
> 
> timeline note: Morgana rides to Idirsholas on the same day King Ryence returns to Camelot, or the day before the King's Tourney

Across the river Albus, the air was thinner. Or so it seemed to Morgana when the horses splashed the waters at the ford and the patrol of druid riders hurried westward. They were heading into the land of Powys, where the fortress of Idirsholas stood, sinister and bleak as though a ghost of a great castle that once used to grace the territory and be the throne seat of the druid kings.

Under Uther's reign, the land of Powys used to have a lordship, but the Lord of Powys, to his sorrow, was a great friend of Nimueh and soon after Uther accused Nimueh of treason, the Lord of Powys was executed. The land of Powys would afterwards host many a battle during Gwynedd wars and the fierce fighting that occurred drove the smallfolk out of the land to look for the peaceful life elsewhere.

With a dark sense of humour, Morgana felt grateful to King Caerleon and Queen Annis. It was thanks to their constant wars and raids that the land of Powys got deserted. There was no traffic, and no people would be pointing fingers at two dozen druid horsemen, and the rumours would not reach the bigger settlements and the knights. The bad thing about the deserted land was the absence of roads. There was but a narrow path, winding back and forth and sometimes vanishing entirely from beneath the horses.

The land of Andor was gentle and generous. There was everything for a wealthy territory to flourish: terraced fields and meadows, dense woodlands and small valleys with trees clinging to shallow streams that sprouted from the river Albus. In the north of Andor lay the mountains with wilddeorens dwelling in the caves beneath the mountain chains.

The land of Powys proved a contrast. Not long after they crossed the river, the rolling hills appeared, and the grass would grow lower and lower, and the green would lose to the pale-yellow color that reminded of hay.

Morgana had never felt more alive. She was leading a patrol group into an unknow territory to inspect the castle that would serve as a holdfast in the rebellion of the Old Ways. _Well, Uther, you have denied me the seat of Councilor of Camelot for years. You would be proud to learn that I may be the castellan of Idirsholas, if the fortress is as mighty as Alvarr promised. And, my dear dead Uther, I am sure you would be most happy to learn I will be among those who are fighting the likes of you in the kingdom._

Merlin gave her poison after his plan to have the knight of Medihr cut her in halves in the corridor hadn't worked out, and ever since that day, her life was a blessing she never had the strength to believe in. _Why wasn't I brave enough to dream? Why did my nightsleep use to be filled with hopelessness and sorrow?_ Maybe it had seemed foolish to sit in the tower, like the princess from one of the silly folk tales, and dream of the day when somebody would come and rescue her. _But the day came. Morgause saved me from the castle and let Uther see it, and he saw that it was Morgause, and not the druids_. _Thank Goddess he kept looking for Morgause instead of sending knights to butcher the druids._

Morgana didn't know how to pray to the Triple Goddess, but she prayed nonetheless. She didn't want the fate to fail her now, now when everything was shaping up into her own life rather than a mere artificial sequence of courtesies in that giant horrible castle. _I will never go back there. Neither to marry Rion, nor to marry anyone else. If there's the granddaughter of the last Druid Queen at court, let her and her descendants rule the land. I will be better at the frontlines._

For the new life she prayed, for the life that belonged with her choices and bowed to no authority. She was with men and women who valued their freedom, who chose to raise their voice and fight for the right to be a part of this kingdom. Alvarr seemed risky, dangerous and tough, but he was a free man, a man who knew that often freedom tasted with blood, steel and grief, a man whose path had taught him things a noble lord would never learn while sitting in that stupid castle and riding at tourneys with lances.

Morgana thought she looked as pretty as never before. She thought there had never been such a beautiful day. _We're going to take a long a ride_. _I will no longer listen to what Uther has to say, Uther is dead, dead, dead! And soon the ban on magic will be dead, too!_

With wind in her hair, she thought that the whole wide world belonged to her. There was the taste of red berries on her lips, the smile of summer in Alvarr's eyes as they would try and race to the closest hill to see whose horse was faster, and Morgana could not help but smile. She had to no longer keep in mind the lines between real and fake, no longer had to follow someone's rules. _Goddess, if we ran into a foe's army, I would die a happy person just because of this morning._

"The castle!" one of Alvarr's riders shouted, pointing at the horizon.

The castle, at first a small black-grey dot on the horizon, was growing bigger as the horses kept racing westward. The northern lands had turned sore and fruitless, the wealthy green of the grasslands was gone, and he castle of Idirsholas looked dark as though a mortal wound to the land.

It was leaning on a steep grey rock on one side. _Excellent. The rock is better than any wall, nobody has the catapults to smash such a rock_. Her neck shuddered when she remembered the days when Bayard of Mercia was firing stones at the walls of Camelot, hoping to tear the castle down before Uther's army from the Western territories would march on him. _He failed, he failed and had to give them a battle in the open field, the battle where both armies suffered terrible losses and Bayard had to withdraw and live in the state of war with Uther for the next seventeen years. Fail he did, but a great number of people died. Gwen lost her mother during the Siege._

"I dislike the air of this place," a brown-bearded man of Alvarr's group muttered warily when they were approaching the open gates. "Such a giant thing and nobody ever thought of claiming it and rebuilding it. Must be a reason."

"There is a reason. It’s called folly," Morgana was growing tired of the omens and superstitions the druids were ready to believe in to explain their feelings. _First Emrys, and now the curse of Idirsholas._ "You must not let silly fears fill your head. This once used to be your home. The seat of dragonlords.”

"Aye, and like all the dragonlord castles, it's built into a rock to have the caves for the dragons," the man nodded, pursing his lips. “They say there is something else living in the caves now, something in the caves where the dragons used to live, something that drives people out of this place."

"My sister has told me what broods in those caves."

"What?!"

"Fear," Morgana said, sending her horse into a gallop.

She didn't like the sight of the gates, and the cracked walls that were bending and looked as though they are about to collapse didn't bring good news. _These walls are old and gone far into decay. They will never protect the castle from any foe._

Her companions were right about one thing: it _was_ a grim place. The Grey Keep was on a higher level and looked firm and strong, as though built recently, and even the Watchtower seemed safe as any fortress, but on the middle and lower levels, the buildings and keeps were falling apart and any hope to strengthen them was too delusional. Morgana could read the faces of Alvarr and his companions, who seemed to smell the sense of doom hanging above the pale-grey buildings. It seemed as though the shadows of the fortress were carrying the heavy blood-stained seal of the past, the past that threatened to come alive. _It is a lonely place in the northern waste of the kingdom, and I must somehow turn it into a holdfast for Cenred's army._

The heavy shadow of the mountain behind the Grey Keep was the only good thing about Idirsholas. _The nature protects the castle from one side. How will we protect the other three sides?_

"We must inspect the castle on all the levels. Let's split into groups of six men. The first group shall go and study the curtain walls. Another six men to inspect the buildings at the bottom level, another six men - on the middle level and middle walls. Alvarr and I will lead men into the Grey Keep."

"Must we inspect the caves?" the brown-bearded man asked with a voice a bit too high for a warrior.

"No. Small chance you'll find the entrance, though, but even if you do, don't go there. The dragon caves are too vast for people, and chances are great you may get lost. Now off you go! And be careful at the stairs, this place is ancient, I don't want anybody to break a neck," Morgana said.

The wind was booming and rumbling in the empty yards, getting lost in the angles between walls of ruined towers and buildings as Morgana and Alvarr were walking up the stairs that led to the Grey Keep through the middle level of the castle. The morning air seemed hazy and the sight of the castle – the more treacherous the brighter the morning rang.

"Why, my lady, you were born to be a queen," Alvarr told her with a bold smile.

"Why?"

"The way you gave commands. Have you heard your own voice?"

"My voice? I... I hope I didn't sound like a..."

"Don't worry about your voice. You were kind enough to remind them not to break their necks."

***

The Grey Keep was a dreadful place, with long galleries, where the floor was dusty and the echo of their footsteps would make them prick their ears, with bats dwelling under the ceilings in the darkest of the abandoned rooms, with hungry spiders that would dart off to the corners of the chambers when disturbed by the torches.

Morgana was treading carefully, for Goddess only knew how firm the floors of the keep were, and she didn't care about bats, spiders and rats. The walls of the Grey Keep were the only walls in the castle strong enough to oppose any siege, and that's why the granaries and the storehouse had to be installed within the Grey Keep. However, the keep was meant to serve the lords and ladies of the past and consisted mostly of chamber rooms, narrow corridors and galleries, and the only rooms spacious enough to serve as granaries were the throne room and the feast hall.

 _The keep can accommodate six hundred people at best_ , Morgana thought as she was walking to the old throne seat in the long room. The dust had gone dark and looked as ashes and was crisping under her feet. _If I stock grain in the throne room and the feast hall that would be enough for just a couple of months_. _However, Morgause hoped Cenred's host would not spend much time at Idirsholas before marching against Vyda Gaheris army. Still, she said that Cenred's soldiers must not starve. How are we supposed to do it when there are no fertile fields for leagues around Idirsholas?_

"Morgana, you shouldn't be walking alone," Alvarr's voice frightened her to death, but she did her best to conceal her fright and turned around, her face pale and calm in the swaying light of the torches. "What are you doing here?"

"Trying to imagine how much grain we could stock here," she said.

"In the throne room?"

"Where else are we supposed to do that?"

"In the middle level, or lower level..."

"The curtain walls are weak, you've seen it. Provision must be located in the safest place of any castle, the one impenetrable and out of the reach of the enemy. And the room must be large enough, for if we stock grain in different minor chambers, we'll not be able to guard it well."

"Grain in the throne room?" Alvar smirked, putting his torch on the wall and stepping closer to trace his index finger along the mighty throne buried under the layers of black dust. "I bet the druid kings of the past did not have a foresight for it, right?"

"It seems the druid kings of the past did not have foresight for a great deal of things," Morgana said with cold discontent to her tone. "Otherwise, they would've burnt Uther when he commenced his conquest."

"They tried to burn him, though. It’s just that there was one of your kind, the priestess Nimueh who protected Uther from the dragonflames and killed the three great dragons. Besides, what do the kings and queens of Idirsholas have to do with it? The kings of Idirsholas lived long before Uther's conquest."

"Why did they abandon the castle?"

"Because they didn't have the queen of beauty that could match yours."

"And that's why the abandoned their family nest? Because they lacked a pretty queen?"

"Are you always so cold to compliments?"

"I am not. It was not the complements I asked, though. I wanted knowledge."

_Even though a compliment coming from you means more than anything I've heard from the likes of Uther's knights._

"When the castle of Camelot was built with the help of Sigan's magic, the court of the Druid Kingdom moved to Camelot. Only Ashkanar, the half-brother of Sigan, remained in Idirsholas, and so did his household. But Ashkanar and all his household didn't need such a large castle, and soon the whole keeps got abandoned. When Sigan was executed in Camelot, Ashkanar left Idirsholas to protest the death of his half-brother. Ashkanar took his dragon with him and they left the druid kingdom and never came back. Ashkanar built his own castle in the south, the castle of Gedref. That's how the Seaside Kingdom was born."

"Why was Sigan executed?"

"He was found guilty of practicing the darkest arts of magic, the ones common to the Isle of the Blessed."

"Blood magic," Morgana whispered.

"No. Blood magic is a childish game compared to the evil that Sigan did."

"If he was so powerful, how did he... why did he?..."

"Let himself be executed? Who knows? Some secrets die with those who held them. Unlike in Sigan’s case. Some say Sigan never really died."

Morgana smiled. She loved to listen to the legends of the past and she enjoyed listening to Alvarr tell them in this fire-lit room of the ancient kings.

"Why would you try and scare a lady with such grim tales in such grim place?" she asked, feigning her voice weak, although not too sincerely. She made a step to be closer to him.  

"My lady said herself that fear was folly."

"Maybe I have changed my mind? Maybe I need someone to shield me from the dread that lingers in the shadows of these rooms?" she asked, her face so close to his it seemed she could see every shade of the torch mirrored in Alvarr’s eyes.

"Morgana, if your sister finds out we..."

"You've said I was born to be queen. Won't you do what your queen commands?"

"I live to serve you, your grace," Alvarr put on a smile heavy with delight.  

"Then kiss me."

She didn’t see how it happened, for she closed her eyes as though by command. She loved the feeling of his lips beneath hers, the strength in his arms that somehow grabbed her - though she could swear she didn't notice it, couldn't notice it with the whole world standing still as her lips were melting in the heat of Alvarr's breath.

"My queen," he whispered. “Isn’t it…”

She didn't know what words were about to pass his lips, but she broke it - were it a compliment or a voice of concern about Morgause finding out about their affair. _Why would Morgause care who kisses me? I'm old enough to decide it for myself._

"ALVARR!" a voice thundered from the labyrinth of walls. "ALVARR, RIDERS!"

Alvarr freed her out of his arms, and she was left with a sore feeling of a broken kiss. The warning meant little to her: Morgana stayed immune to fear, all she cared about was that moment when her and Alvarr's lips were locked, bound by desire in ecstasy that was better than any magic. She rushed out of the room, chasing Alvarr, who kept his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"Where do you think you are going? Morgana, you are not to step out of the keep, if..."

"You are not to give me orders. I thought I've showed you what I can do with a sword," she said briskly, her voice disjointed from the hurried walk.

When they rushed outside to run down the Long Staircase, Morgana saw figures cloaked in yellow at the steps in the lower level. _Thirty of them, no less,_ she thought, too afraid to count _._ The worst thing was that a good half of Alvarr's men had been disarmed, standing on their knees with their hands behind their heads. _I've told them to split to inspect the castle and hear they are, on the brink of death._

Not all of Alvarr's men had been disarmed. Six were facing the yellow-cloaked figures with their swords unsheathed, and six were following Morgana and Alvarr from the Grey Keep. _Twelve against thirty. If all of Alvarr’s men fight the way Alvarr does, we don't stand a chance._ The intruders looked almost like Camelot knights, except for the cloaks - they were not red and bore no Pendragon sigil; instead, they were yellow and had the bear prints on them. _The Sigil of Gingawaines_.

"Name yourself," the tallest knight barked a command at Alvarr as they were descending the staircase.

"And who are you to give me orders?" Alvarr barked back.

Morgana, Alvarr and their group joined the six druids that held their swords firm, and Morgana's eyes hurt from the shimmer of noon's sun in the mirrors of the blades.

"You're adressing a knight of Camelot, and you will treat me with respect," the yellow-cloaked man told Alvarr threateningly, raising his sword.

"And what would a knight of Camelot hope to find in an abandoned castle?" Alvarr said playfully, his hand on the hilt of a sheathed sword.

"Something I want you to answer first. Who are you and what are you doing here?"

"Why, me and my companions are looking for the treasures of Ashkanar. Some say he hid a dragon's egg in the castle of Idirsholas."

"There are no treasures of Ashkanar in this place," some knight shouted from behind. "Only bats and rats."

"Maybe you've been looking in the wrong places?" Alvarr proposed innocently. "We hoped we would be luckier than the other treasure diggers."

"Interesting things you say. Treasure diggers. Then why do your men have the druid mark on their arms?"

_We're doomed. Alvarr can build no lies to explain it._

"They are no treasure diggers, brave sirs. They are my saviors," Morgana said, stepping from behind Alvarr's back.

"And who might you be, birdy?"

"I am Morgana of House Gorlois, ward of late Uther Pendragon and heir to the lordship of Asgorath," Morgana said, and it seemed even the wind went silent when she said those words.

 _Why am I even saying this? Goddess, I'm saying everything to postpone the fight, but they will know..._ The knights were exchanging looks in disbelief, and Morgana didn't want to let their doubts ripe.

"I was kept in this castle by the witch. She freed the knights of Medihr here, cast a sleeping spell on the castle of Camelot, nearly killed Uther and abducted me. She brought me here and kept me locked in chains, and these brave men found me and freed me."

The knight hesitated before he took a deep breath and said:

"The Dark Witch, you say? We heard of her... But they are druids nonetheless."

"Does it matter who saved the king's ward?"

"You're no king's ward even if you are lady Morgana. We have a new king now. Lady Morgana, my foot... Well, you have too pretty a face for a low-born, I reckon... We shall escort you to the castle, and if you are who you claim to be..."

 _No_ , Morgana thought, _I shall never go back to that castle_. The rejection of the knight's proposal was almost physical, she could hear her teeth clench and a wave of heated fury was born in her chest and traveled all the way through her veins to reach her arms, and then out of nowhere something was happening: the knights were shouting, for the hilts of their swords turned red from heat and were burning their gloves and the skin of their palms, yet they could not drop them, for some reason. When she took a deep breath, the knights dropped their blades and were shrieking, looking at their burnt palms.

"Now!" Morgana shouted and Alvarr led twelve men into the attack.

It wasn't an attack, though, it was a butchery. The knights were raising their arms, trying to protect themselves from the druid swords. Those at the back did have time to reach for their blades and pick them from the ground, but the wounded palms didn't permit them to hold their weapons firmly, and the swords were flying out of their hands when they tried to meet the steel of the druids. Before long, they were begging for mercy, but Alvarr showed none.

"Stop!" Morgana shouted when the last knight was about to be put to sword. "We must spare him. We'll need him."

"What for?"

"He will talk. "

They tied the knight and placed him on one of the horses. It took some time to hide the bodies of the dead, for a proper burial could not be done. They dumped the bodies in a house of the lower level, dragging them one by one, the blood leaving a strange trace on the ground, between red and black. Morgana thought she had to feel sorry for the dead men, but there was nothing in her heart for the dead knights, only disgust and stranger curiosity.

"My lady should not look," Alvarr told her as she watched the lifeless dolls of flesh be dragged to the houses.

"Your lady must know what war means. Why were they here, how d'you reckon?"

"We'll find soon enough," Alvarr said, nodding at the tied knight. "I must thank you for your magic. Without you, we'd be dead."

"It is my duty to protect my people," Morgana said boastfully, although she had no clue about how she made it happen. She only remembered the strange heat in her chest and her arms, as though the blood was boiling in her veins.

"Their horses and blades will benefit us greatly," Alvarr noticed.

Before they were about to ride back, Morgana heard what the men had to say about the castle, and she didn't like it much. The curtain walls were promised to fall if poked with a wooden sword, the lower level buildings were a dreadful sight, too dangerous for men to sleep in. _We could accommodate the stables in the lower level_ , Morgana thought, _and pile the lower level with hay, so that even of someone sets the hay on fire, the flames do not reach the Grey Keep. The middle level could be used to install the kitchens, but the hearths are ruined in half the buildings there... And the walls... well, we could dig trenches around the perimeter of the curtain walls, deep trenches, and throw sharp stones there and stuff these trenches with sharp spikes so that neither the horsemen nor the footmen had easy time getting to the curtain walls, and our archers had the chance to fire arrows at whoever gets stuck in those trenches... But the food, the food... And the wells are awful, and the water needs to be drawn from somewhere. I don’t even want to think about drainage…  This castle can be restored to a shade of its past glory and could serve Cenred’s men, but it needs so many servants… And it all comes down to food._

"How do you propose to feed Cenred's men?" Morgana asked as she mounted her horse.

"We could've commanded all the representatives to go back to their tribes and order them to move to Idirsholas. However, even the travels of representatives for Triskelion gathering attracted the unwanted attention from the brave sir knights,” Alvarr spat. “If the whole _tribes_ start moving to Idirsholas from all over the kingdom... Risks are that they will be put to sword."

"Then what shall we do?"

"I had a thought. But...."

"Share it!'

"Lochru, that toothless old man, he arrived from Essetir, from the Essetir druids. Cenred never cared about the druids, he said it himself. He will not notice them mass and travel north and cross the border with Camelot in Northern Ascetir. If they bring their provision, it may be enough to feed the soldiers for the time before the battle."

"Why don't we ask them to come, then?"

"First of all, there is a Jarl’s fortress next to the border of Camelot and Essetir in Northern Ascetir. Jarl is a slave trader. People who will be traveling through the territory under his control risk being turned into a slave and sold. But the worst thing is that Essetir druids have a stubborn leader. Iseldir. He will never listen to me because I work with Morgause, a priestess from the Isle of the Blessed."

"Then maybe he will listen to the niece of the dragonlord," Morgana said, thinking of how many men she would need to go to Essetir and explain everything to Iseldir.


	30. Lancelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Lancelot start their journey to the Perilous Lands

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

Getting out of Camelot the night before King's Tourney was not the easiest task. The pavilions were raised on the western side of the moat, beyond the walls of the Lower Town, and the guards were patrolling the streets in the numbers that exceeded whatever Merlin could recall. The tourneys always provoked tighter security measures, for the knights would come from all over the kingdom and bring their horses, their swords, armors and daggers - the most expensive assets that would be sold quickly at the black market if stolen. And that night, stolen they were.

After Kilgharrah had shared his wisdom with Merlin in the King's Wood, Merlin met Gwaine and asked him to look after Gwen while he'd be away on his journey to the Perilous Lands. The next thing to worry about were the horses. The Perilous Lands were three days' ride away, and they had to somehow obtain the fastest transport. The calm of the sweet velvet-black night was ruined when the guards started shouting at the sight of the flames that, all of a sudden, engulfed the cookfire and the empty barrels of mead in the farthest part of the knight's camp. In the chaos that ensued, nobody noticed two figures that sneaked into the stables, knocking two guards out, and rode away into the Darkling Wood.

Even though Lancelot kept muttering that it was "not very noble of them", Merlin was free of any sense of guilt. The horses were expensive, but he was sure the crown would compensate whatever loss the knights had suffered to avoid a scandal at the first tourney of the new king. Merlin also felt riding would be a safer option for the two chestnut stallions; he had watched horses wounded and crippled at tourney all the time. _If everything goes smoothly, these stallions will return to Camelot royal stables and have a story to share with their peers,_ Merlin thought with a smile.

They were not riding at full speed in order not to make it look as though they were on the run. The broad and well maintained northern road had villages and thin woods stepping close to the road and the trees would cast clingy shadows on their way, the tracery of thin branches in the moonlight. Stars were sparkling in they sky, and there was the one he remembered most of all, for it reminded him of the very special night he had spent in the Western Tower with Arthur.

_He held me in his arms on the edge of the top storey, and it seemed we were on the edge of the world. Goddess, there was nothing save for the starlight, the wind and Arthur's breath on my neck. He kissed me and told me how to tell the sides of the world with the help of the Guiding Star. He cared about me before we were to ride into the patrol mission. It's as though he knew we'd get separated for some wicked reason. Arthur, I promise, it's just a matter of days. I will be in Gedref soon. Will you be there, waiting for me?_

Nights were summer's least welcomed guests, and the air was set ablaze by dawn before long. Lancelot suggested they'd stop at some small inn on the northern road to break their fast, but Merlin reminded him that two poor-looking lads riding such expensive horses would make the innkeeper raise an eyebrow. Much to his dislike, Merlin said they better not stop before Greenswood, and break their fast at the large inn peopled so densely they would have a chance to stay unnoticed in the crowd.

Greenswood was a place where he had come across Morgana three days ago, but Merlin knew she was under Morgause's protection and Morgause would hardly ever choose Greenswood as a place that would harbor the priestess of the Old Religion and the late king's ward. _I bet they were going to the same place the druids were going. Why, though? Well, she went to the druids the first time... I told her to, and she liked them so much she wanted to stay and never come back to Camelot... Goddess, let her live with the druids and be happy. Let her lead a peaceful life among the druids until the day Arthur reclaims his throne and lifts the ban on magic. He will lift the ban, I'm sure. Now that he knows there're so many sorcerers that are not evil..._

By the time they reached Greenswood, Merlin had told Lancelot everything he thought Lancelot should know about Arthur. Uther was poisoned, and when the newly elected king found out that prince Arthur had survived the assassination, he broke Arthur's tomb and ordered to kill the guards to spread the nasty story that Arthur's corpse had turned into a wraith, just like his uncle Tristan’s corpse had done the previous year. Arthur was not planning to wage war on Ryence, he had a different plan, but Merlin spared the details of that plan. _I'm not even sure Arthur's following that plan, I'm not even sure about anything that concerns Arthur.._. It was before noon when they entered Greenswood, the village engrossed in its cares and duties under the dome of the blue summer sky. The main street had noisy traffic, just like the previous time, and Merlin was glad the inn was densely packed.

"Look at you, giving me a job again!" Lancelot said, attacking his chicken fried with garlic. "One year after we met in that forest. "

Merlin didn't like the smell of food - he couldn't think of food when he knew his fate was about to be decided in a matter of three days.

"The last job I gave you was better than this one, don't you reckon?" he said, chewing some bread to keep his strengths up. "What was it, training for your knighthood, right?"

"Right. Training for my knighthood, and fighting for glory and prize money in the jousts. Well, there were risks, too..."

"Like fighting the girffin?" Merlin snorted.

"No. Like presenting my forgery of seal of nobility to the court in order to correspond to the first rule of the Knight's Code. Some servant persuaded me to do it."

"Who was that servant, I wonder?"

"A man of great talents. He made me present some feigned papers to the _king_. The king, who surely had learnt all the noble houses by heart. Oh, Goddess, Merlin, when I recall all that, I wonder where my wits were... I was mad to try and fool the king!"

They both laughed, and Lancelot even choked on his mead and had to fight the seizures of cough, and Merlin had to hit him on the back, lightly. Suddenly, Merlin felt even more sorry about Arthur. _I have Lance here with me, and Arthur only has Owaine and Modron. They are his knights-to-be, right, but he was never close with them... He surely hasn't been involved in helping Owaine present forgery to the king... He's alone now._

"Your wits are _still_ questionable, though," Merlin told Lancelot when they stopped laughing. "Many would call you mad for going to the Perilous Lands with me."

"That would not stop me."

"Why? Lance, I hope you don't feel honour bound to me? All I did..."

"I feel bound to a _friend_ who once helped me. I never forget those who helped me, Merlin."

_And I will never forget your help, either._

***

They didn't spend much time in the inn after their meals. They had lost sleep at night, and Merlin knew that riding was the only way to fight the eyelids that were getting heavy. Their riding was a brief one, though, for before long the forest around them grew thin, and sparse trees were looking feeble and lonely. The horses stopped on a sandy and stony bank of the murmurous river, and Merlin glanced at its calm waters, agleam with the intensity of the sunlight. Quiet flew the river, wide but not deep enough to stop the horses from crossing it. Merlin draw a deep breath and closed his eyes to let his sight carry him forward and let a glimpse at what lay ahead. However, he saw nothing but the river.

"What is that?" Lancelot asked, studying Merlin's worried look.

"I can't know. Something is wrong.... Something is wrong with the river."

" _This_ river?"

"Seems so..."

"What can be wrong with a river?" Lancelot was on the lookout for something dangerous as he guided his horse closer to Merlin. "It flows like all the rivers flow..."

"It's my sight..."

"Your _what_ , beg pardons?"

Merlin couldn't help but smile at the ways Lancelot would react to his magic skills. He would still giggle at the way Lancelot shouted "IT TALKS?" at Kilgharrah in the King's Wood. _Kilgharrah does more than talks. He gives counsels, and some of his counsels include poisoning friends, sadly._

"My sight. I have a gift. I can see the way ahead, even from rather long distances. It's like my eyesight travels ahead of my body and allows me to see what is there ahead on the road."

"And you see something bad ahead?" Lancelot's hand reached for the hilt of the stolen sword instinctively.

"No. The problem is, I can see _nothing_ past this river. My sight can't travel farther than the river, for some reason... That's very strange..."

Strange as it were, Merlin didn't know what he could do about it. _My sight is magic, and the river defies it, defies it the way my magic has never been defied before. He dismounted the horse and came close to the waters. It really is just water. Flows like any other river, Lance is right. However..._ He let his fingers into the water to just make sure it was safe, and safe it was. Merlin wiped his wet palm off the sleeve of his tunic.

"So? What?" Lance asked, still looking out for trouble. "We can't be losing time, you said we had to hurry."

"That's right. But..."

"Listen, Merlin. Let me ride first, I hope... I mean, I know nothing about your talents, but can it be that your sight and your gifts are just getting weaker because of that sunstone you're wearing?"

"Er... That can be," Merlin said thoughtfully, checking the sunstone beneath the fabric of his tunic.

"Then we've nothing to fear. Follow me!"

Lance kicked his horse and off he rode, splashing the water and looking like a knight that was throwing himself against some foe. Merlin watched him cross the river when all of a sudden, Lancelot and his horse vanished into thin air without leaving a trace.

"LANCE!"

Merlin jumped onto his stallion and sent him into the river, having no time to properly fix himself in the saddle. _What is this magic? Goddess, Lance..._

However, Lancelot was fine. His horse appeared on the opposite bank, as though he had always been there, and Lancelot could not be wearing a more perplexed expression.

"Merlin, what's wrong? Why were you shouting as if you saw another griffin?"

"You've disappeared!"

"Beg pardon?"

Merlin stopped his horse next to Lancelot's. _What is happening here? Did the druids cast some magic to conceal their hideaway from other people?_

"Disappeared!" Merlin said, breathing feverishly and letting the wave of shock calm down. "Halfway across the river, you just vanished, in a blink of an eye!"

"But here I am. I didn't vanish nowhere. I would've noticed," he added with a smile.

 _This must be druids' work_ , Merlin thought. _This magic is harmless to strangers and protective in nature, this is the hand of druids._

Merlin closed his eyes and saw the forest racing past him, he saw a camp of tents, horses tied to trees...

"My sight!" he shouted at Lancelot, who shifted in his saddle from the sound of Merlin’s voice. "It's back! Goddess, there are people on the way! Druids, they look like druids! They have a camp and some watchers in the forest..."

"Merlin, bloody hell, something bad is happening!"

Merlin opened his eyes and saw Lancelot, who jumped off his horse and was trying to untie his belt as though it was not a belt, but rather a poisonous snake around his waist. When Merlin saw the smoke pouring out of the sheath of his friend's sword, he realized what made Lancelot be so nervous.

"Lance, your sword!"

"I can see that, thank you!" Lancelot dropped the belt on the ground, finally. The sword's blade has melted and looked like a withered tree.

"Bloody hell, Merlin, what kind of sorcery is that?!"

"I don't know, I can't know... This place is sick with some magic, that's for sure..."

They were both looking around, to make sure nobody was watching them. The camp Merlin had seen with his sight was far enough to let their shouts pass unnoticed, but Merlin feared the watchmen could hear something.

"Is there a way you can repair the sword?" Lance asked too hopefully.

Merlin looked at the mutilated piece of steel on the ground.

"I am afraid not... Lance, we better go faster."

"Then let's go."

"We'll have to make a detour, though," Merlin warned, climbing his stallion. "So that we don't bump into the druid watchers, let's turn east."

***

The flames were feasting on the rich firewood Merlin had picked in the wood while Lancelot was taking care of the horses and feeding them with apples and hay they bought from the innkeeper in Greenswood. After draining their waterskins, they spent some time trying to find the stream in a forest that was as inhuman as none of the forests Merlin had been to. The Darkling Wood, the King's Wood, the Woods of Ascetir and the Forests of Brechfa all looked like men's realm, with animal and birds trying to hide as deep into the thicket as possible, due to constant legal and illegal hunting. The forests of Andor looked as though men had rarely gone farther than steps deep, and Merlin had already seen a couple of hares, and a fox that gave him a disappointed look before passing them, as though the sight of men didn't matter to her at all.

Lancelot was sitting across the fire spitting sparks which would be carried by the gentle wind the instant. His face, with summer tan and thoughtful expression, was lit by the red glow of the flames. Darkness may not have come for the world yet, but night had come for the forest, save for the fire-warmed gorge they chose as their camping spot for the night.

Merlin tried to chase whatever thought that would drive him away from fears. However, his fears proved restless, crashing his hopes the way the sea would send its waves against the shore and ruin even the sharpest rocks. _What if there is no Fisher King in the Perilous Land? What if Kilgharrah lied to me to avenge me for stopping him from burning Camelot? What if I never see Arthur again?_ _What if..._

"Merlin," Lancelot's voice was a much needed distraction from the terrifying ideas.

"Hm?"

"When Arthur got shot in the Forest of Brechfa, did you really intend to sacrifice yourself when you put that sunstone on?"

"What do you want me to say?" Merlin was not sure what Lancelot meant, but he shifted uncomfortably.

"I look at you and I wonder about myself. Would _I_ knowingly give up my life for something?"

Merlin's eyes met the inquiring look of Lance. The wind was listening, the forest was listening, the night was listening.

"You have to have a reason," Merlin said, remembering the loving-blue of Arthur's eyes the night they arrived at Brechfa. "Something you care about. Something that's more important than anything."

"And what happened that Arthur suddenly got more importnat than anything to you? The last time I saw, he treated you no as well as he should be. The knights said he'd mock you all the time."

_And mock he did. But not now. Now he loves me, although he never said it, but the way he'd kiss me and whisper my name..._

"That was true about last year. It changed, though."

"When?"

"When I left him and went to my mother's village to protect it from bandits. He waited for a day, but then rushed to help me," Merlin said, recalling the night Arthur found him the dark forest. _Put down the sword, Merlin, you look ridiculous._

"What? Arthur rushed to help _peasants_ in some Essetir village?"

"No. He rushed to help me."

"You? A servant?"

"Right. But I'd rather not talk about Arthur when he's so far away," Merlin knew his eyes turned to mirrors.

"Why?"

_Because it makes me miss him even more._

"Just... you know, we better talk about something else. Like, if I cope with the sunstone, will you join me? And Arthur? He'll gladly knight you now."

"I'm not sure about it. Gwen will come between us again and..."

"She won't," Merlin said, afraid of the feeling of secret pride beneath his skin.

"How d'you know?"

"Whatever was between Arthur and Gwen, it's gone now."

"And how d'you know?" Lancelot pressed the point.

"Arthur told me himself."

"Are you saying this just to make me joining Arthur's Rebellion?" Lancelot smiled at him, knowing how good Merlin was at deceiving people.

"No! That's how things are. I tell you, he loves someone else."

"Who?"

"You'll find if you join him, I guess."

"You saw her?"

Merlin's ears were burning.

"Well, er... yes. I saw her."

"Is she pretty?"

His cheeks caught fire, too.

"I don't know. She must be, if Arthur loves her."

"Then I can be with Gwen..."

"You can. I think," Merlin tried to feign some confidence, remembering the vase Gwen threw at Lancelot the last time she saw him. "If Gwen doesn't mind."

"She didn't seem happy to see me."

Merlin took a deep breath and reached for his waterskin, although he had no thirst. _Gwen, Gwen, Gwen... Oh, Goddess. Gwen, who was the one to be kind to me when people were throwing vegetables at me the day I arrived at Camelot. She helped Arthur save me from Nimueh's poison and was such a friend... I did a bad thing when I shouted at her, actually, but when Arthur finds out she helped murder Uther... I will never let him harm her, but I can't be on good terms with Gwen if Arthur learns the truth. Forgive me, Gwen._

"You must understand her," there remained all the harsh feelings for Gwen because of her decision to poison Uther, which, in turn, brought Arthur's life under risk, but Merlin felt genuinely compassionate to her when he thought about what Lancelot had done to her. "You left her because you thought Arthur had more rights to be with her and because you thought Arthur was a more worthy man than you. And love's not always about rights and worthiness."

"That wasn't why I left," Lancelot's leg jerked, as though he wanted to kick something.

"Can I ask why?"

"I left... That's a complicated matter, Merlin, and I can't explain it so easily."

"We've got much time to talk before dawn," Merlin tried to joke.

Lancelot couldn't work even the faintest smile. His face, lit by exhausted flame, bore the sad expression of someone who seemed to hate himself so much he was angry at the whole world for it.

"It was just... Oh, Merlin, I hope I don't sound harsh on you... You know you are my friend and I am grateful to you for all the risks you took to help me get knighted last year... But after my seal of nobility was exposed... See, you were a servant and that's how you earned your bread, and there is nothing wrong with it, really nothing wrong. If you're fine with it, it's a decent job... But I can't be fine with being a servant, because I'm best with sword, and the only way to earn my bread with sword was denied to me because I was of no noble birth. And so I had to find ways to earn coins, ways I was disappointed in, ways I know my father wouldn't approve of... The worst thing about having no way to earn coins is that all your life lacks tomorrow. You can't think further than today. It's always about today, and never about tomorrow or next week or next month, because there is no way for you to plan anything when you're not sure there will be job for you. And when I learned about Gwen and Arthur... I just thought that she'd be happy with someone who had a better place in life."

 _But love's not about being with someone with a better place in life,_ Merlin wanted to object, but when he saw a weak teardrop sliding down Lancelot's cheek, he chose to save that wisdom.

"I really hope she can forgive you," he said, watching Lancelot watering the fireplace in silence.  


	31. Taming the Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin sees a weird dream when he falls asleep in the land of Andor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

It was not an ordinary dreamy, for his nightsleep would rarely burst with such vivid visions. For a time his sight seem blurred, and all he could sense were colours: black, white, orange, blue and yellow, the wild dance of colours that was not styled in any particular order. Merlin tried to combat, tried to resist the call of this unknown enigmatic force, but before long he surrendered, entrusting himself to something he had experienced in the forest of Northern Ascetir.

Then the colours disappeared in a flash of silver light, and the contours of a richly furnished bedroom rose out of the dark. The window was wide open, the moon - full, and it seemed as though the glossing moonlight rather than the wind was tossing the lilac curtains. Merlin saw a giant bed twice the size of the ones they had in Camelot, a young lad with dark tousled hair sleeping.

_It's the the same bloke I saw in the dream that spirits showed me in Northern Ascetir. Well, he's just put on some muscles and some suntan, it would seem._

Merlin saw the door of the room open and the fair-haired lad sneak in, climbing the bed and pushing the dark-haired bloke on his shoulder until he woke up.

"The hell you’re doing here?" the dark-haired lad whispered, half-asleep.

"Remember I told you I was planning a surprise for you?" the fair-haired boy was grinning.

"I do. Although you've said _tracing_ , not planning."

"Get up, we must go now."

"Edgy, it's the middle of the night."

"Is the dragonlordling scared of a night forests?" the fair-haired asked, tickling his friend by the ribs.

"I'll show you a dragonlordling!" the dark-haired boy tried to grab the fair-haired one, but that wasn't that easy to do.

"Oh, I can't wait. Come on, on your feet, we must hurry."

***

Merlin wanted to hurry, too, wanted to chase two lads into the late night's hour, but the dream was quicker than Merlin - the whole scene vanished and drowned into the sea of colours before shifting to a different landscape. It was the moon-besieged thicket, with threads of silver light on the tree branches. The lads were going deeper into the forest.

"What is it this time?" the dark-haired boy asked, yawning. "Is it some giant boar you will be hunting for the next week?"

"No. It's not a boar. I think we're getting close."

It took them some more time, and Merlin was beginning to think they actually got lost in the forest when the fair-haired lad whispered:

"Quiet. I think it's there. Look..."

Before he could even point at what had to be looked at, Merlin heard the sudden treacherous noise in the bushes, and saw the dark-haired boy jumping up and grabbing the fair-haired boy's hand, as though from fright.

"A unicorn..." the dark-haired youth whispered, his mirror eyes flooded with admiration. "Goddess, Edgy, it's beautiful!"

Merlin saw the unicorn, too: it didn't take much after the one he had met on a unfortunate hunting trip with Arthur; this one was less gracious, with a shorter horn and bony spine, but he was charming in its own way.

"Thought you might like it," the fair-haired boy shrugged. "They say a unicorn is the Ancient One, just like a dragon."

"So they say... This is breathtaking! I have never seen a unicorn in Camelot..."

"I just know that you miss your castle, and I thought something to remind you of magic would benefit your mood, see."

"Where did you learn that unicorn is an Ancient One?" the dark-haired boy sounded surprised and awed.

"Don't they school you in Camelot? Ugh... Do you know who built the castle of Gedref? Ashkanar."

"Ashkanar the Obstinate, we call him in Camelot. The dragonlord that didn't want to kill Sigan, even though the king sentenced Sigan to death. He moved out of the castle to protest the king's justice."

"And raised himself a bloody good castle here, the castle of Gedref," the fair-haired boy nodded.

"And disappeared when he got old. Some say he went mad and built himself a tomb and hid a dragon's egg there."

"But before Ashkanar disappeared, he left his son a rich library where you can read so many things about Camelot's beliefs. That's where I read about unicorns and the Ancient Ones."

Suddenly, the dark-haired lad looked as though he would do anything to hide his gaze. _He is smiling. He has that smile._

"Look at us," the dark-haired boy said. "We're talking about unicorns in the moonlight. One may think it's romantic."

"Well, by the way you're holding my hand, that's the least I could think," the fair-haired boy smiled, too.

"Bloody hell!" the dark-haired boy jumped away, as though stung by a bee. "I'm sorry, I'm really sorry, I just got frightened by the unicorn and..." 

The fair-haired one made a step to cut the distance between them. He pushed the dark-haired lad a little and pinned him to the trunk of a tree, and pressed their lips together. The dark-haired boy stood, clumsy and startled, as though afraid to move, letting the fair-haired youth leave a long and daring kiss. Before long, though, the dark-haired lad threw his arms around his friend's neck and the sounds of their kiss and feverish breathing was a song in the rain of moonlight.

***

The moonlight flooded the scene, swallowing the forest, the night and the kissing lads. The next scene was happening in a house that looked a lot less noble than the bedroom Merlin had seen in the first seen: it had low ceiling, wooden walls, a hearth and a low bed of hay, where the fair-haired boy was lying, naked. His eyes were closed and his was running his fingers through the dark-haired lad's hair who was positioned… _Goddess, he’s down there_.

The dark-haired boy had his friend's cock buried halfway in his mouth, with spit running from beneath his raspberry-red lips. His lips were flying up and down the fair-haired bloke's length.

"You don't fear we'll be discovered here?" the dark-haired boy asked, letting his friend's cock out of his mouth.

The fair-haired boy looked as though he was cheated on something that was his by all the rights. He looked at his friend, the smiled dancing on his lips.

"Discovered in my hunter's hut? Who in the wide world would try to sneak into my hunter's hut at such an hour? Apart from some lustful dragon prince, of course."

"I don't know... Maybe..."

"Less talking, more working," the fair-haired boy said, using his right hand to guide his cock into his friend's mouth that opened a bit too eagerly. "Ouch, watch your teeth, please..."

"It's not _working,"_ the dark-haired boy said, taking the cock out of his mouth. "It gives me pleasure."

"It gives me pleasure, too. You... Oh, Goddess!" he closed his eyes and took a deep breath when the dark-haired boy forced himself all the way up his friend's length.

"Me?" the dark-hired boy giggled.

"You've got such a hot breath, it's like a dragon's sucking me."

"Stop saying that! Makes me laugh...."

"My dragon. I love to think of you that way. I'm taming a rare dragon, the rarest in the world," the fair-haired boy said, grabbing his friend by the shoulder and pulling him into an embrace. Their arms and legs were intertwining in a manner that Merlin believed was impossible, and in a moment, the fair-haired boy was pressing his friend to the dusty sheets, staring into his eyes lustfully and decidedly.

"I want to get inside you," the fair-haired boy whispered, biting his friend by the earlobe. "Oh, Darian, please. Don't play the shy one."

"I'm not sure that would be right," Darian indeed blushed.

"You've sucked my cock in the ways that made me shiver and you've consumed more of my seed than any pleasure-girl that I've had. How's _fucking_ different?"

"Because that wouldn't be just _fucking_ for me."

"Darian?"

"I've... you... you don't know what your touches do to me, you can't imagine," Darian said, trying to send his gaze anywhere not to meet the fair-haired lad's eyes.

"I can. You shake like a leaf whenever me leg starts rubbing yours at the dinner."

"Because I... That's something I can't... something I have no control over, and not that I want to. But that's deeper than a silly game for me. That's deeper than just a knight fooling around with his squire. Edgy, I'm fond of you."

"And you think I'm not fond of you?" the fair-haired boy asked, dropping a strong kiss on Darian's lips.

"You seem like you are more on the fun side. I think that if I let you inside me, I will not bear going back home...."

"Tell me one thing," the fair-haired lad asked, touching Darian's nose with his. "Only one. And don't bother thinking and weighing in and looking for the best answer. You promise you'll answer honestly and at once?"

"I promise."

"Do you love me?"

"I love you, Edgy," Darian replied, and tears were for some reason in his eyes. 

The hunter's hut disappeared, although Merlin didn't mind staying and watching what went on between Darian and his fair-haired friend he called Edgy. _Surely he can't have such a name. Edgy. Edgy! Blimey! That was what I kept muttering asleep when Gwaine woke me up in the forest of Ascetir! I kept saying Edgy!_

 ***

Merlin saw Darian again: alone, the dark-haired boy was sitting by the narrow forest stream, playing with a butterfly which was nesting comfortably on Darian's index finger. Darian had changed: he had grown a short beard, and was a lot more stiffly-built. The sun was mirrored in the stream, a yellow ball of light in the cold-blue waters.

"I was about to call banners," the voice that rose from Darian's back scared the butterfly and off it flew. Darian didn't even bother to turn around; he waited patiently until his fair-haired friend landed near him and put his hand around Darian's shoulder. Edgy looked almost like a young man.

"Why would you call banners?" Darian asked, splashing the waters of the stream playfully.

"To look for you."

"You can't be calling banners. You are a _prince_ of Gedref, not a _king_."

"Are you challenging me, Prince Darian? You think a couple of fire-breathing pets on your side can make you invincible?"

"My pets would roast your arse!" Darian said with a grin, splashing some water at Edgy who had to close his eyes.

"You don't command a pet still."

"And I will never command a dragon if I keep calling them pets. So. You've found me."

"I am the the best hunter in the Seaside Kingdom!" the fair-haired boy said proudly, straightening his back. "Prince Reginald the Hunter they call me."

"You're Edgy to me," Darian said with a weak smile. "Always will be."

"Why do you look as though all the happiness is gone from this world?"

"Are you Prince Reginald the Hunter or Prince Reginald the Dull?"

"Careful with your tongue, sir," Reginald traced his finger up Darian's neck, chin and stopped on his raspberry lips. "I can put your tongue to better use than throwing insults at me."

"Edgy, I must go back home comes autumn," Darian did sound desperate. "My fostering is over..."

"Darian, you're a _prince_. A bloody prince of Camelot, you will be a dragonlord one day and yet you keep saying that you _must_. You must naught. Who on Earth can put a dragonlord prince under obligations?"

"A dragonlord king, I guess? And all my family."

"Oh, this is silly," Reginald lay on his back, inviting Darian to do the same. They were lying on green grass, from the sunlight. "I can't understand you dragonlords. You've got the messiest succession rules in all the Five Kingdoms. You have two elder sisters, right?"

"Right," Darian nodded. "One of them had married three years before I was sent to you, and she had given birth to two daughters already, Lewissa and Anna."

"Then why can't this sister bloody succeed your father on this damn throne?" Reginald said, his tone fuming.

"It's the way it has always been. The druids have been ruled by dragonlords since the gates of Avalon were sealed, which is the dawn of time..."

"But your father is not the only dragonlord."

"Balinor is just a boy, and so is Winybolt. Well, Dracos is mature and his wife is expecting a child, mother writes..."

"Then let this Dracos rule Camelot," Reginald proposed as though they were discussing who was to serve breakfast. "And you stay here with me."

"Edgy, you're being a complete idiot," suddenly, Darian took the seated position and was looking at Reginald with anger lingering in his mirror eyes. "Say, why can't _you_ tell your father that _you_ don't want to rule after him? Why don't _you_ renounce your heirship and hand it to your elder sister?"

The wrinkles appeared on Reginald's forehead before he gave an answer:

"Because Nudda is so fat the throne will crack under her weight and people will take it as a bad omen and the kingdom will perish under her giant farting arse."

For a moment, Darian kept looking at Reginald angrily, but then his body began to shudder, silently, and then he burst out with laughter and started rolling on the grass, unable to hold back. Reginald was laughing, too.

"Stop that!" Darian said when he managed to gain control over the laugh seizure. "I hate you, I'm trying to be _serious_ here!"

"Nudda's arse has long been the matter of _serious_ affairs. When she broke the wind in the presence of Nemeth's envoy, he thought it was a declaration of war!"

They kept rolling on the grass, helpless against the laughter, and Darian had to wash his face with cold water from the stream to calm himself.

"You idiot...," Darian said. "Oh, Goddess, you try to laugh everything off, right?"

"Darian. Would that I could abandon my crown and go to Camelot with you... I would do it without thinking. But unlike you, I am not blessed with... clever sisters. Nudda married some donkey from Nemeth, a bastard of some rich lord who got exiled for stealing a large part of royal fleet. Du Bois. She already gave him two sons, Agravaine and Tristan, and she's with third child and we all pray it's not a boy. We can't let this Du Bois get close to the affairs of Seaside Kingdom, which he will do if Nudda's fat arse ever sits the throne. My sister lacks wits when it comes to picking a husband and to governance, and she will never be as good a ruler as any of _your_ sisters. I _must_ succeed my father."

Reginald said it in a solemn tone, hoping that Darian would respond with something witty, but Darian just climbed him and tucked his nose into Reginald's.

"I love you, Edgy. Love you, love you, love you. I can't lose you because of the crown."

"You will not," Reginald promised.

"I will. They will make me marry some girl and breed her so that the dragonlord line of Andor dynasty goes on, and..."

"You will not marry anybody," Reginald's voice got hard as steel. "You're mine. My dragon. My love. Wind to my sail."

"Please tell me they will never make us fall part."

"They will never make us fall part," Reginald repeated.

"You will visit me in Camelot?"

"Every season. For two weeks. And you will come to the castle of Gedref every season, two. And you will stay longer than two weeks."

"You will not forget me when I travel back home?" Darian asked, his tears falling on Reginald's cheeks.

"You idiot. How can I forget you?"

"I don't know," Darian was crying. "How do people forget about each other?"

"I'm not some people. I will do everything it takes to be with you. You're my dragon, Darian. I love you." 

When he said it, the scene melted away, and Merlin realized he was standing in the garden, surrounded by hedges with flowers of all shapes and colours, and rainbows, multiple rainbows were crossing the sky. In front of him was a stone table and benches, and _Arthur_ was sitting on one of the benches.

For some time, Merlin kept waiting patiently for the dream to continue, but then he realized something was wrong. He looked at his hands and realized he could command them. Glowing they were, and felt a lot lighter than in real life, but his control over the motion was as though in real life. _It's no longer a dream._

"Arthur?" Merlin asked, his voice as fragile as the glass.

At the sound of his name, Arthur's head jerked, and he rose to his feet, taking some steps back.

"Stay away from me, whoever you are," Arthur said, his hands clenching into fists and fear dancing in his eyes.


	32. The Garden of Green Wings

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin meets Arthur in the dreamworld.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

Whatever little understanding that Merlin had about his visions vanished when he saw Arthur, the Arthur he couldn't expect to see, the one rising to his feet and threatening him. It was Arthur, there could be no doubt: Merlin wanted to scream from joy at the sight of Arthur's hair, fair as the young wheat in the dawnlight, of his heavy jawline and the wild-blue of his eyes.

"Arthur!" Merlin exclaimed, stepping forward. "Arthur, it's me!"

"I know who you are," Arthur said with a look that suggested he'd be at Merlin's throat in a moment. "I know what you're capable of. I've seen it!"

"Arthur?" Merlins stopped dead, his arms shaking, and his own voice weak and refusing to obey. "Arthur, is that... is that really you? Like...er... _you_?"

Arthur maintained the defensive position, firm on his feet in a tiny square surrounded by green hedges with blooming flowers. _What is this place?_

"Arthur, how did you get into my dream?"

"Your _dream_?" Arthur's tone was the one Merlin could easily tell. _He is afraid, but he is more afraid to show his fear than he is afraid of danger itself._ "Is that another trick you'll use to kill me?"

"Arthur, I've never tried to kill you," Arthur's words were a dagger into his heart. "I love you."

When he said it, a flock of butterflies flew over their heads, their wings of deep crystal-blue. Arthur started frowning, his fists shaking.

"If you're Merlin, tell me one thing. What is the most humiliating thing I ever made you do?"

"You made me wear that awful hat with feathers! So that I looked like a court fool!" Merlin replied at once, remembering all the lords and ladies giggle at the expression of discontent on his face.

Arthur's lips started twitching.

"And what's the best thing I ever done to you?"

"When we were together in the ridges of Ascetir, we made love and after that you told me you that you couldn't just believe that I arrived at the castle by accident. You told me I've landed in your hands because of some design," Merlin said, crying for some reason.

"That's really you," Arthur whispered.

"Arthur!"

Merlin wanted to rush and throw himself at Arthur and sink in his arms, but Arthur was quicker - the prince cut the distance between them in a couple of steps and seized Merlin, raising him and whirling Merlin around in the air.

Merlin couldn't believe it was happening, couldn't believe he was meeting Arthur in some weird place that didn't even seem to belong with his dream. He could feel Arthur holding him, but he couldn't feel Arthur's body - it was a sweet silky heat that made up his sensations, and Arthur didn't carry his smell, the raspberry mixed with his sweat that made Merlin crazy with desire. But it was Arthur, his Arthur, his prince, the star of his sky.

"Arthur..."

Arthur ended their embrace but kept his hands on Merlin's shoulders, staring into his eyes with a painful smile on his face.

"That's you! That's really you," was all the prince kept saying. "Merlin."

"That's me!"

"My Merlin..."

"Arthur, what are you doing in my dream?!"

"So that's _your_ dream," Arthur snorted. "Small wonder! With rainbows and flowers everywhere... Such a lovesick girl, Merlin, and..."

Merlin shut him up by reaching for Arthur's lips with his own. The kiss brought a sensation of pressure and light pleasure, but it was far from the sweet rawness that used to fill his mouth when Arthur'd try to conquer it, but it was a kiss in the dreamworld, after all.

"Arthur, how did you get here?!" Merlin mouthed in disbelief, still in shock that Arthur somehow turned up in the flower-blooming garden with the sky crossed by rainbows.

"How do I know? Who's got magic here, you or me?" Arthur knocked on the tip of Merlin's nose with his index finger.

"I was just seeing dreams, I swear!"

"And I just fell asleep in the inn and turned up here!"

"You were in the inn?! What inn?!"

"On my way to Nemeth," Arthur nodded.

"Arthur, you're on the way to Nemeth!" Merlin shouted. "You're safe?"

"I hope so. I'm escorted by Nemeton's guards."

"You've reached Nemeton!"

"Yes, I've reached it, although some witch tried to kill me on the way," Arthur said, turning his head as though to check the witch was not there.

"Witch? What witch?!"

"She didn't tell her name. She tried to take the shape of my father and… oh, Merlin, stop shaking, you little deer, the moonstone on my chest roasted her. I tell you I've got to Nemeton and on my way to Kingdom of Nemeth now."

 _Witch. The Cailleach._ Merlin would've gladly spent the whole time just staring into Arthur's eyes, and stay bathed in the blue that meant more than the whole world to him, but he didn't know how quickly the dream would end, and he needed to know, to be _sure_ Arthur was safe.

"How did they receive you in Nemeton?"

"Well enough, but they won't rise for me."

"They won't?! Even though Modron is the heir of Nemeton?"

"That's precisely the point. He is the _heir_. His father is the Lord of Nemeton, and Lord Pellinore is in Camelot now. The castle of Nemeton held the council and they decided they could not raise banners without Lord Pellinore's leave."

"But how are they supposed to have his leave if he's in Camelot? They must ask Modron's opinion in his absence!"

"They must naught, they are bloody lords and ladies. They obey to nobody but their lord, not his _heir_. Besides, I've allowed myself to say too much, but I was honest. I can't lie to people if I want them to call me king. Unlike you, it seems."

"Me?" Merlin felt the heat between them melting away, and he saw the flock of butterflies dispersed by a gust of wind that echoed with chill and fear.

"Merlin, I swear, when you get to Gedref I'm going to spank you bloody for lying to me," Arthur expression could not be more sore.

"Where did I lie to you?" Merlin asked, reaching for Arthur's hands and trying to feel something from holding them. He didn't like Arthur's tone; the blue of prince's eyes was on fire with fury.

"You said you needed to go to Camelot because of some weapon! Said you were powerful! I know why you went to Camelot! You're dying! You're dying so that I can stay alive! I know about the sunstone and moonstone and that you put it on so that you could save me!"

Arthur was shouting at him, his voice echoing all over the place. Merlin noticed the rainbows' colours go bleak and shallow, and the flowers on the green hedges were beginning to wither.

"Arthur, I..."

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

"I was afraid you wouldn't approve!" Merlin said in a miserably hurt tone, angry that he was brought to seek justification for his sacrifice.

"Approve?! Merlin, you mean so much to me and yet you can't be sincere with me even when I accepted your magic! Why, Merlin, why?!"

It hurt Merlin in the heart. Arthur was so right and had all the reasons to be angry with Merlin. _I lied to him, I really did and there's still so much more Arthur has to learn about me. He doesn't know I'm a dragonlord and he doesn't know I poisoned Morgana. He doesn't know I've set the dragon free._

"Oh, cut it, will you?" when Arthur saw Merlin cry, his fury was gone; he locked Merlin in his arms and tried to run his fingers through Merlin's hair. "Merlin, you brave little deer, why d'you always have to put your life at risk for me?"

"Cause I love you. Cause I don't need to live if you're gone."

"Stop saying that. I will die one day, Merlin, though with your help I will be a dreadful old wrinkled cabbage when it happens. You think it's easier for me to imagine the world without you? To imagine what it will be like if you don't find a way to solve this puzzle? To think of the world without you by my side?"

Merlin wanted to talk, to say something, but he was helpless in Arthur's arms, always was, and couldn't stop the tears.

"Look at you," Arthur whispered into his ear. "You're crying even in the dreamworld. I must not shout at you, I know, but I was furious when I found out..."

"How did you find out?" Merlin forced the words.

"Owaine told me."

"Right. I told him to watch over you and to make sure you keep wearing this moonstone."

"Oh, Merlin... My little protective star. What did I do to deserve such a sweet little thing by my side? Stop crying, will you? I command you not to cry! I am your king."

"You're such a dollophead sometimes," Merlin said, laughing, and looking into Arthur's eyes without shame and fear. "I did it to just protect you."

"And without your courage, I'd be a rotting corpse already, and I appreciate your efforts, but Merlin... My mother died giving birth to me. My father died because of news about me... I don't want to lose you, I wouldn't bear. Silly little sweet overprotective magic star," he said pressing a kiss on Merlin's cheek, the kiss that ignited a flame of pleasure that was so strong Merlin could nearly taste it. "Can I tickle you in the dreamworld?"

"You absolutely can't!" Merlin replied, his smile too wide to maintain.

"You found a way to solve the riddle?"

"I did. I'm heading to the Perilous Land to meet the Fisher King!"

"Perilous Land? Merlin, that's dangerous!"

"I'm having a safer journey than you. So far, no witch tried to kill me. Although I saw Morgause and Morgana."

"What?!"

"In Greenswood. Morgana recognized me, but I ran away."

"And she?.."

"I don't know where she was going. Probably to the druids. She'll be safe with them. And I'm safe 'cause I'm with Lancelot."

"I don't like it," Arthur said, frowning. "I thought you were with Gwaine?"

"Are you jealous even in the dreamworld?" Merlin laughed.

"Alright. When you come to Gedref, I will not spank you bloody. But I will do unspeakable things to you."

"Like what?" 

"I don't know. Throw you in the stocks. And have you in more ways than you dare to imagine," Arthur's eyes were gleaming with desire. "Goddess, Merlin, you can't imagine how I long to be with you. I'm missing you so much. Your heat and your kisses. The way you moan when I'm inside you. Damn it, Merlin, you think we can fuck in the dreamworld?"

"Arthur," Merlin giggled, but his gaze slid down to the thin cloth of Arthur's breeches. They exchanged looks that suggested there were plotting some utter conspiracy. "To think that you called me a wanton..."

"You still are," Arthur said, his hands demanding and arrogant on Merlin's ass. "Merlin, I think I'll be in Gedref in a couple of days. Will you be there, waiting for me?"

"I will," Merlin nodded, and suddenly, Arthur was glowing - as was the sky, the rainbow and the flowers, all ablaze with juicy colours. The light was pouring into the garden. "I think we're waking up..."

Arthur smiled sadly. 

"Damn it, we should've spent more time here! Merlin, I lo..."

Before the light flooded the scene and the blue of Arthur's eyes was gone, Merlin saw a dragon with green wings high in the sky above the rainbow - the dragon looked younger than Kilgharrah, and Merlin saw the dragon breathing out fire.


	33. Her Heart's Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen enjoys her first proper peaceful day in Camelot, and she just can't get Gwaine out of her head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen POV

The morning light was kind and tender, pouring through the window of her house and leaving a yellow stamp of endless summer joy on her wall. Gwen was laying on her bedsheets, the young and vigorous girl of twenty-three who felt she had lived too many lives to count.

She had lived the life of the obedient daughter that grew up too early and had to look after the household, with the loss of her mother constantly hanging above her family - the loss that cost them more than they could bear.

She had lived the life of a loyal and faithful servant of the king's ward, behaving the way that would've been condemned by many of her peers - had they found out she had developed a deep sympathy and something close to friendship with a noble girl whose actions had often been misinterpreted by the castle’s kitchen gossips.

She had lived the life of a prince's girl for a brief yet hopeful period of weeks, the days when she thought her future was to join Artur and be his wife, and help him and give him counsel on the matters of the commoners. Her love for Arthur was wrong in many ways, many would tell, but she didn't have the time to wonder whether it was right or wrong - so engrossed was she in seeing Arthur, thinking about Arthur, catching his glances and staring at him in return, that matters of court morale seemed bleak and unimportant.

She had lived the life of a lonely girl who had lost all her friends and those she cared about, the girl who had nothing but the job of an old mentor and the insights into castle life and all its secrets, however dangerous and horrific. The secrets she wished she'd never learned.

What life was she to live now?

All the worries and all the suffering she had been through could be enough to make it hard for any other girl to feel young and vigorous, but there was something about the new day's dawn that defied all the threats, even though the threats would not melt away easily together with the night's shadows.

She did her best to not think about the hell of Yrien's cells, the betrayal of Rion and the cruel plots of King Ryence, yet she kept the kitchen knife next to her pillow, and would keep it for many more nights, until the moment when the memories of the dark cells would turn into incohesive visions mistaken for a nightmare.

Yesterday had brought her an inch closer to happiness. Yesterday was a dream come true, the peaceful day in her life, with laughter and jokes, apples and bread baked with berries, with wonders of the tourney market, with loud cheers for the champions and summertime frozen in Gwaine's eyes.

Gwen began to laugh, still laying in her bed, when she realized she didn't remember the name of the champion. So little did she care about the tourney and so gleaming were the eyes of Gwaine in her fantasies that she laughed.

"What's so funny?"

For a moment, she thought she was going crazy, because Gwaine's voice was so vivid in her mind it seemed almost real, until she realized it was real. _Oh, Goddess!_

She jumped to her feet and covered her sleeping gown with the blanket, leaving nothing save for her sun-touched ankles to shimmer in the morning air. Gwaine, his hair tousled from the sleep, his face a little swollen from late night's ale and deep bruises under his eyes was a welcome intruder in her window.

"I could've been naked, actually," she said in a tone that was meant to bring accusations – although she wasn't sure it achieved the intention.

"Not that I'd mind that, princess... But I have to be quick today, see."

She didn't like it, she didn't want him to be quick. She wanted him to stay and to be with her.

"Quick?"

"I must go to work. I'll be rebuilding the Lower Town, remember? Merlin found a job for me."

"How did he do that?" Gwen asked with a smile, treading carefully closer to the window. The hour was early, and the street as good as deserted. "Merlin has so many tasks one may think he's skilled enough to be the councilor of Camelot, you know."

"Oh, I think he's far past that. He may be king one day."

She stopped by the open window, watching Gwaine lean on it. She wanted to pull him through the window and burn his lips with hers, to drop the blanket on the floor and tease him and let him see her naked. _Goddess, what am I thinking?_

"Don't tell me you've brought me flowers again," she said, seeing Gwaine hide something behind his back.

"Oh, no flowers today, I'm afraid. I thought you'd enjoy some breakfast, my lady," he said, handing her fresh-baked bread and a couple of goose eggs.

"Oh, Gwaine," she said, letting her blanket fall on the floor and accepting the warm loaf of bread that filled the house with the delicious smell. "You shouldn't be spending so much on me, you really shouldn't."

"That's not much, and I think I can spend whatever I like on you," he smiled. "You're feeling good today?"

"I am," she nodded. "But I feel so silly for not remembering who won the tourney yesterday."

"Sir Vidor. Some pompous arse of a lord from Daobeth, they say. The girls will get wet from the sight of him, I'm sure."

"Gwaine!" she giggled and tried to snap him on the cheek lightly for not minding his language, but he caught her and pressed a gentle kiss to the back of her hand.

"I'll see you in the evening, princess," Gwaine said, darting off playfully, his look so intense it seemed enough to take off her sleeping gown. She was standing by the window, bathed in the sunlight, the goosebumps covering her arm from the feeling of Gwaine's unshaved roughness to her smooth kiss. She felt her chest rising and her cheeks burn, as though it was a fever. _Goddess, I'm in love. How, how, how so?_

***

She threw herself back at the bed and hugged her pillow and squeezed it with her legs. _Gwaine. Gwaine. I've known him for a couple of days. Well, for some days probably... When he approached me in the street I thought he was too obvious for somebody who wanted to learn my name and... Oh, when he touched my hand back then, I felt everything... Could it be that it was love at first touch, if not first sight?_

She couldn't understand what was so good about Gwaine that made her lose her mind after just one day spent with him. _Well, he is so simple. Simple, but not easy. He is not as difficult as Lance or Arthur. Gwaine doesn't let the weight of some honor crash him, like Lancelot did. And he doesn't seem at some dilemma, like Arthur was when he struggled to choose between me and his throne. Gwaine's just a simple man who looks for adventures and who fights for the right side... And he tells what he thinks, oh Goddess, when he joked about Uther blaming the bird for magic to make the guards catch the poor thing quicker... And when he calls Vidor an arse but admits the girls will be wet at the sight of him... Is love meant to be simple?_

With neither Lancelot nor Arthur was the love simple. It seemed that Lancelot's and Arthur's knightside turned everything into a battlefield for them, even the thing as slender as love. Loving Arthur meant fighting the inevitable but no less cruel thought that nothing would ever come between them, for he was the heir to the throne of Camelot, and she was the daughter of a blacksmith. Loving Lancelot meant shielding herself from the painful wound he had inflicted on her when he left without saying goodbye, passing her to Arthur the way children passed wooden swords in the street. Loving Gwaine was laughing and throwing berries at him and smiling in the morning sun.

The birds were singing, and so was her heart. She boiled goose's eggs and broke her fast with the fresh bread and found some old herbs Gaius had given her a couple of weeks ago when she used to work as his apprentice in the castle. _Gaius. I must somehow see that he's safe, even though Gwaine said Merlin had told him not to worry about Gaius. Gaius was giving those awful potions to Morgana, that doesn't make him a good man, but he was the only one to take care after me after Morgana disappeared. He is far from evil._

Gwen wanted to spend the day for herself. Her house needed cleaning, and she was running out of coins and thought of selling a couple of dresses Morgana had gifted her. _Where am I to go, though? I can sell them at the market, but they won't offer a good price, I'm sure. They usually don't. Market's a place where buyers know you're running out of money since you're selling clothes, and they'll offer low price because they know you'll have to sell it anyway. I can go to Umberta, she works in the dress atelier and she knows Morgana's dresses are of good quality. She will pay a fair price, I hope._

The morning was bright and noisy when she left her house, and headed for the Street of Silk. Umberta, whom Gwen had met in the castle of Camelot last year, used to work for Lord Cynric, the Councilor of Trade under Uther's reign and the Royal Treasurer under King Ryence. However, she was fired after Lord Cynric became the Royal Treasurer and went to work in one of the cozy shops with dresses in the Street of Silk.

Gwen noticed a lot of people cleaning the streets after two days of celebrations that, as some claimed, went a little too far on the second day, with rare fights in the taverns, thefts in the inns and even illegal racing on the horses down the main street. The Lower Town was about to return into the typical summer mood, and the 12th of July meant there was still a lot of work left to do in the fields and a little more than a month before they were to start gathering their harvest.

The street of Silk lay in the western part of the Lower Town, not far from the square where the storehouse used to be located until the dragon burnt it down. Gwen was happy to see so many young men occupied at the reconstruction of the houses that perished in the flames, and the street of silk that was wider than the other ones because it was designed to permit the passage of noble carts, looked busy, too: merchants were preparing to restart the trade that was paused when the war engulfed Brechfa.

The street of silk was perfumed with the scents of oriental oils and shimmering colours of fabrics were flapping, like gentle banners, in the wind.

"Gwen!" Umberta exclaimed when Gwen entered the room that looked wonderful with bluish curtains, expensive furniture and dresses that would suit the taste of many ladies at court. "My lady, this is Gwen, Lady Morgana's servant."

Umberta adressed the woman behind the counter, a smartly dressed lady with a butterfly barrette in her black hair and a big round nose.

"Lady Morgana? I thought she's dead. What's your business, child? I don't allow my errand-girls to chat with friends at work, see," she said, and Gwen felt disgusted with every single feature of this woman at once: her nose, her eyes and her butterfly barrette. She hated how carelessly that lady referred to Morgana as someone long thought dead. _She may be more alive, free and happy than you and everyone you know._

"I was thinking you might be interested in acquiring some of Morgana's dresses, my lady," Gwen said, pointing at the pack she had brought.

"Dresses, you say? Interesting. They said Uther kept all Morgana's belongings in the Royal Tower..."

"She gifted some of her dresses to me. She'd give me presents on name days and other holidays, my lady."

"Interesting... The girl was arrogant, but she had a taste, one can't deny it... Show me, child."

 _Arrogant? She was the most humble girl in the castle._ _She gave her food to the commoners when the draught befell the kingdom._

"How are you fairing?" Umberta asked her while her mistress was trying to price Morgana's dresses.

"Not good. The Councilor of Camelot is replacing the castle's household with her own, and I've lost my job and can't find the new one."

"Oh, that's not good... Lord Cynric didn’t just send me away when he became the Royal Treasurer. He found a place for me here, he sent me to work at this wonderful shop...”

“You really like it here?”

“Well, it’s different from being a serving maid… Yet it doesn’t feel like work, it’s more like… Don’t know how to say. And we have some noble guests, they come all the time. Today I saw Ewina!”

“The daughter of the royal Secretary?” Gwen frowned, trying to recall what Ewina looked like.

“Yes! She was so happy and so proud, she kept boasting she’d be marrying the champion of the tourney! Silly girl, they say it’s ill luck to speak ab…”

“She’ll be marrying Sir Vidor? The young knight from Daobeth?”

“So she kept saying. Was looking for a dress and chatting with lady mistress,  I didn’t hear much… Brought some friends with her, other ladies… They were all jealous, I could tell it from their faces. Of course they tried to act courteous, but they were jealous. Well, I’d be jealous, too, if one of my friends were marrying the tourney’s champion…” Umberta said, consumed by a dreaming tone. “And I could’ve, who knows? You know, I fell sick shortly before Lord Gingawaine arrived at the castle, I was supposed to be the Gingawaine's servant… If I hadn't fallen sick I would've been the royal family's servant, can you imagine?"

_Oh, I can imagine it, and to my own sorrow I can imagine it too vividly. And trust me, girl, you would never want to be a royal servant like me, you would never want to see all the things I have seen._

***

The price Umberta's mistress had offered for three dresses was rather modest, but she paid in silver, and the rates were good to exchange some of the silver coins into copper yews and go to the market. Gwen needed to buy some food for the dinner: she wanted to cook something special for Gwaine and meet him after work and spend an evening face to face. She even thought about purchasing some wine, but after learning the prices, she thought wine was still too expensive and she decided to stick with cider.

The market was a little noisier than usually, mostly because the castle serving boys and girls were coming to buy food to fill the storerooms they had emptied for the royal feast held the day before yesterday.

"Best cider, child, of last year's harvest, the apples are ripe and good, you'll see," the fat man in greasy tunic told her, pouring the liquid from the wooden tankard into a waterskin.

"I hope so," Gwen nodded.

"You're the one who serves in the castle, right?" the man eyed her warily.

"I served in the castle," Gwen said. "I no longer work there."

"So more's the pity," man sighed. "We all yearn to learn what the castle lords and ladies think about the rumours..."

"What rumours?"

_If this is again about that silly story of Arthur being a wraith, I swear I'll shove a couple of apples up his..._

"The dragon. People from the village near the King's Wood say they saw a dragon."

Gwen's insides froze. She shuddered at the memories of the helplessness, the nights when the high and thick walls of the castle proved useless against the dragonflames, the nights when dozens, if not hundreds of people, died from the attack of the beast.

"The dragon? There's no dragon. Arthur killed it," Gwen said, trying to reassure herself.

"So they said. But now that we learned the prince's a wraith, could it be that the dragon came back from the dead, too?"

"It can't be. It can't," Gwen shook her head. "The dragon's dead."

Yet as she was walking home from the market, she would glance at the sky from time to time, afraid to spot the black wings of death in the blue of the summer.

***

Gwaine came home later than she expected, but when he knocked on the door, she rushed to the threshold and greeted him, helpless to prevent the smile.

"I thought you'd not come."

"Told you I'd be looking over you, princess," Gwaine said, stepping in and stopping dead at the sight of the table dressed in the festive tablecloth, soft fire dancing in the candles and roasted chicken strewn with green herbs and cider so inappropriatelly poured into the fine goblets. "Who's all that for?"

"For you," Gwen said, fighting the desire to break her own fingers from nervousness. _Goddess, I'm sweating like crazy._ "And for me. I wanted to thank you for... for persuading me to go to the tourney. That was exactly what I needed. And to thank you for watching over me. That's something I need, too."

"The pleasure's mine, princess," he said, and it seemed to Gwen he could conquer cities with the force of his smile. "You've spent a good day?"

"Oh yes, yes, definitely. I, I cleaned the house, all of it, it got dusty while I was... away, you know, and I cleaned it, and I sold Morgana's dresses and I bought a good dinner for us, and I think of finding a new job now... Oh, you heard about dragon?"

"That's what's on everybody's mind!" Gwaine shouted from the backyard, where he was washing his hands in the basin. "A fool's talk, if you ask me. If there were a dragon, he wouldn't just be roaming the sky, right? He'd try to roast as many arses as possible, just like he did the last time."

"I know! I was thinking the same, I swear! Why would the dragon be just flying close to the caste of Camelot?"

"That's all fool's talk, I tell you. People just don't like that everybody's back to work and they try invent some silly tales to distract everybody from working."

He came back into the room and invited her to take a seat. Gwen saw him take his place on the opposite side of the table and she loved to see him as happy as her, the joy of sharing a tasty dinner with someone interesting... _Maybe more than just interesting_.

"This looks delicious," Gwaine said, grabbing a goblet with cider. "Too good to be true. You did a wonderful job, I feel so sorry I'll have to go..."

"Well," Gwen said, reaching for her goblet as her eyes met his, and she could read everything she wanted to read in his eyes: his interest, his lust and longing, his desperate need to be close with someone new. "I haven't made up my mind yet, but I think you can stay tonight."


	34. Fealties and Foes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Ryence holds his first council after the war.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King Ryence POV

The members of the court quieted as King Ryence entered the council chambers. Next moment, they all rose, including Lord Sagramore, who nearly threw the table over with the threatening mass of his belly; the empty goblets fell and one of them smashed the floor and rolled to the corner of the room. Unlike the lords and ladies, Ryence didn't want to allow himself the faintest of smile, for he respected Sagramore too much to put mock him in public. _I'm keeping him as my Secretary not to laugh at his belly, but because it's the closest I can keep him. And Goddess knows I need to keep Vyda's nephew close._

"My lords and ladies," Ryence said, his voice lost among the pleasantries mouthed by the council members. "Please forgive me for being late. It may seem I've turned it into a habbit, but I promise you I shall improve my timing."

"We are meant to serve the king and to wait for him, if need be, your grace," Lord Cynric said, smiling, catching the disdainful look from Lord Sagramore who was struggling to get back into his special chair. With Accolon and Leon absent, the fellow councilors didn't seem to hate Lord Cynric as much as Uther's councilors used to. _Little do they know about Cynric and the part he’s played in Uther’s death._

"Good," Ryence seated himself next to his secretary Lord Sagramore. The seat to the left of King Ryence remained empty, supposed to have been taken by Sir Leon, the next one was occupied by Lord Cynric, the royal Treasurer. On the opposite side of the table, his sister enjoyed the company of Lady Caelia and Lord Geraint, with one empty seat reserved for Lord Accolon. _It's about time the useless fool returned from the West._

Before commencing the session, Ryence glanced at his Council, the council that was free of the faintest suspicion of not being loyal to him.

_Sir Leon has just proved himself a valuable commander in Brechfa, and I will do well to appoint him the Councilor of War once he is summoned back to the castle._

_Accolon is useless. Utterly useless. Dutiful to the art of war, but lacking wits when asked to play the part beyond the lines of his official duties. He failed to bring seals of the West to me, famous and respected as he is. I did the good thing when I chose Anna Didnrane to be the envoy to the druids._

_Lady Caelia... she's too flat-chested for someone with such a pretty face, but I know she's a Cynric's creature, and Cynric depends on me too much to oppose me._

_Lord Geraint voted for Anna during the elections, but this bald fool is so servile he is ready to jump in the moat if I ask him._

_Sagramore's the one that troubles me. He knows too much about the castle, he's served as Uther's Counciolor of Camelot for years, he is Vyda's natural nephew, while Uther was the nephew of Vyda's husband. Sagramore might be the last stronghold of Uther's loyalty, the stronghold I'm still to uproot. Now that I know he intends to marry his daughter to Vyda's grandson, our new champion of King’s Tourney... We shall see._

"Let us begin."

And begin they did. First, Lord Sagramore delivered a thorough report about the consequences of Cenred's invasion, based on the letter sent by Sir Leon. Fifty six soldiers died either during battles or from battle wounds, a number that satisfied King Ryence. _One out of ten. Some battles for Everwick made us lose four people out of ten. The False Friends War was a disaster with nearly seven people out of ten killed. Goddess, Bayard was thirsty for blood. Good thing Uther was too proud to ask for my help._

The king's army was positioned at two castles, Lord Sagramore said, and the soldiers were busy restoring peace in the villages, where theft crimes, the common companions of war, were flourishing. According to the report, the fields didn't suffer much; twelve villages were set on fire as the enemy's host was fleeing to Isgaard and further to the old Essetir road, in other words, to where the host had come from. Thanks to the generous rains and the tender summer, the kingdom could hope the losses would go unnoticed thanks to larger than expected harvest. Knights were checking the Southern road, the Old Roman road and the Gedref road to make sure bandits would not be troubling the travelers and the merchants once the trade resumes.

The war did not cost the crown as much gold as it could have, but the losses from the seizure suffered by the trade between Camelot and the Southern Lands could not be estimated properly, Sagramore complained. Training, feeding, arming and leading the Howden host to war had not passed unnoticed to the Treasury, Sagramore concluded.

"Sir Leon fought bravely and proved himself a worthy knight, we must not forget it" Yrien added when Lord Sagramore finished his report. "As for the spending… I'm sure our new Treasurer will find ways to make up for the losses, now that he has a whole new _castle_ at his disposal."

"If his grace permits," Cynric said, filling his cup with lemon water and blushing. "I suggest we write the letter to Lord Chemary of and Lady of Woodspeak, and ask them to kindly bear the expenses of keeping the royal army in Brechfa. These castles should have more than enough coin for that, your grace."

"Put that in the letter," Ryence agreed. "Let the castle of Brechfa pay for the campaign as well, since this day on. We must make sure peace and order are restored in every corner of the territory that suffered the invasion, and Brechfa can pay for it herslef. As for the dead... Lord Cynric, I must ask you to research our funds and to estimate the sums we can pay to the families of those who died in war."

"At once, your grace," Cynric nodded.

"And what's to be done with war, your grace?" Sagramore asked, the medallion on his neck producing an unpleasant sound.

"War?" Yrien turned to the Secretary. "War is over."

"We would be fools if we believed this invasion is everything Cenred had up his sleeve. The man's a coward, but a dangerous one. Our truce no longer holds and frankly speaking, without truce, we're at war."

"We shall sign another truce then," Yrien suggested. "Now that his pitiful army is smashed, the conditions favor us, don't they?"

Sagramore cleared his throat.

"The conditions would favor us more if we led our own army into Essetir," he said.

Silence fell over the room, and people were studying Sagramore warily.

"Declaring war on Essetir in the middle of summer? Lord Sagramore, pray tell, how many soldiers do you think I shall need to make the conditions favor us more? How many swords will be enough to make Cenred sign the treaty on our terms? I have less than five hundred armed men in Brechfa. Raising and arming and training a proper army would take weeks, and..."

"Camelot already has an armed and trained army," Sagramore cut in. "Two thousand swords at the command of the crown, your grace. A full-scale army with mounted legions, archers, spearmen, knights and soldiers waiting for you in Asgorath."

Ryence exchanged looks with Yrien and could swear Cynric's look was burning him as well.

"The army, however, is not, how you've put it? At the command of the crown, lord Sagramore. The seals of the west take time to arrive, it seems. It's a formality, of course, but without the seals, I hold no power over the Western army, and neither does our dear Councilor of War, it seems. King I may be, but I must not break the traditions of the land."

_Traditions, my hairy arse. Uther invented them, an ugly copy of the Western rules._

"My lord, but you do command the West," Lord Sagramore smiled at Ryence before announcing it abruptly. "This very morning, the seals have arrived from the Lord of Asgorath, the Lady of Daobeth, the Lady of Denaria and the Lord of Landshire, together with the letter signed by Lord Catigern, Lady Gaheris, Lady Galla Dindrane and Lord Lucan, respectively. The western lords and ladies all swear fealty to you. The Western army is yours to command."

Fury swept over Ryence. He felt as though he had been stripped naked and paraded through the narrow streets of Lower Town, or thrown in the stocks for people to smash his wrinkled ass with rotten vegetables. _How comes this fat fool learns of the seals before I do? Why hasn't he reported to me? In what light does he present me to the council?_

"My lord, please care to explain how the seals get into my Secretary's hands before the hands of the king?!" Ryence demanded with poorly masked anger.

"Why, my lord, but it is a _tradition_ of Camelot. The seals must be presented to the Secretary before anybody else. Like they were to Geoffrey on the election day," even though Sagramore's lips were quivering, he managed to produce the words. "I ought to have announced it at the council."

Ryence's fingers were no longer fists under the table. He started breathing in, deeply, and could feel his old heart dancing in his chest. _Damn it, damn this all. I am forgetting myself. He is a bloody secretary in the first place._ Ryence glanced at Cynric, who was tugging upon his chin beard. It seemed to Ryence that Cynric has managed to bow down with the look in his eyes. _You're working fast, I grant you that. Is it over? Has Vyda Gaheris surrendered that easily? Was the promise of Asgorath to her younger son enough to make her loyal?_ Sagramore passed the seals to the king; Yrien's eyes were gleaming, and she was staring at the rings the way a hungry a cat watches the mockinbirds.

"Now that the formality is cleared, what would his majesty say about the war?" Sagramore asked and stared at the king uncertainly.

King Ryence was quick to take the meaning, the true meaning of that question. _Of course Vyda hasn't surrendered easily._ _I can see through you, Sagramore. Through you and through your old but cunning aunt. Vyda, you're playing it well. You want me to command the Western army to invade Essetir. But if I do so, the Westerners will be granted permit to cross Denaria, Brechfa and Ascetir. You want me to give you the king's permission to bring two thousand swords to the east of White Mountains. But what is it exactly that you're planning to invade, Essetir or Brechfa? I will not stand two thousand Western swords in Brechfa on the verge of the harvest season. I will not let you restage Uther's conquest. You might as well piss in your own mouth in your decaying land._

"My lord, before we wage war on Essetir, we must be certain on the integrity of our own kingdom," Ryence warned.

"Your grace?" Sagramore asked, troubled.

"I'm speaking about the news from the North. The druids in the territory of Andor. They have been crossing the Mercian road in great numbers."

"The druids?" Sagramore mumbled.

"Yes, the druids, the druids in our very kingdom. My sister sent two patrol groups to gather whatever information they could find. Only one returned yesterday after the nightfall. You best hear what they have to say."

Ryence clapped his hands. The doors swung open and three men that have returned from patrol entered the room. They were a miserable sight, with their faces filthy, their clothes ragged and something that looked like swords in their hands.

"Your grace," they all bent the knee.

"Arise, brave knights, and please, share your story with my council, so that they hear it from you the way I heard it last night."

"Dear lords and ladies. In the absence of our King, while he was fighting war against Cenred, our Councilor of Camelot ordered us to ride north and check the rumours about the druids on the Mercian road. We did manage to learn that druids were traveling in great numbers, and their destination lay behind the river of Albus. However, when we crossed the river..."

"What then?"

"Our swords turned to dust," the man said, laying the hilt with the corroded blade that was threatening to fall into pieces and couldn't be used to even cut the apple.

"And so did our daggers."

"And arches."

"And all the weapons we carried."

"Sorcery," Sagramore hissed. "This is the work of sorcery!"

"Of course, it is the work of sorcery," Yrien said, irritated. "You don't presume a smithy could have forged a sword that turns from a shining blade into a dusty filth in a blink of an eye? You're dismissed, brave sirs."

When the knights left the council room, Sagramore touched the corroded blades as though he was inspecting some dangerous predator slain during the hunting trip.

"What can be the meaning of this?" Sagramore inquired.

"Anything. Riots. Rebellion. War,” Ryence said, terrified at the potential of power that could melt steel. “The druids have suffered greatly after the Great Purge."

"Not greatly enough, it seems," Sagramore snorted. "We must destroy them before they pose a greater threat."

"And how must I do that, my lord? By sending a well-trained army of two thousand western swords to hunt the druids in the forests of Andor?"

"King Uther would command raiding the druids’ camps at the single suspicion of..."

"I am not king Uther,” Ryence roared. “I will not be sending my men to fight the druids now. They will not go there unprepared. There is some magic at work, if you have not noticed by the look of these swords. We must tread carefully."

"What does his majesty suggest?" Cynric stepped into the conversation to help draw the king’s anger away from the fat Sagramore who looked as though he was choking.

"I suggest we send an envoy first. We must learn the druids' intentions before figuring out the number of soldiers we will need to oppose them."

"And who will serve as the envoy of the crown?" Cynric’s eyebrows were dancing.

_Not you. Of that we can be sure. I will not be putting all my eggs in one basket._

"Anna of House Dindrane," King Ryence announced.  

"Your grace, forgive me, but this decision is a mistake," Sagramore said with some unexplained merriment to his tone.  

"Pray explain yourself, Lord Sagramore," Yrien flared.  

"We all know who Anna of House Dindrane is. The granddaughter of the last druid queen," Sagramore was pointing his fat sausage finger at the window as though Anna were somewhere there, floating in the air beyond the tower glass.  

"The druid dynasty was replaced thirty-two years ago, lord Sagramore,” King Ryence reminded him. “Prince Darian's branch has been cleansed off earth thanks to Uther's doing, and Queen Andor's granddaughters were married to Uther's warlords."

"Still, sending her... Your Grace..."

"Lord Sagramore, do you think that Uther would have kept Anna at court had he not been entirely certain about her loyalties? She has done nothing to oppose Uther. She hasn't even taken part in Thulin’s plot to murder Uther. She saw Darian’s widow beheaded, and I will not speak of what happened to Gabryss and her family in the presence of ladies. Anna has lived through it, she chose Uther. Yet her origins may help us win druids' trust now."

"Win druids' trust? Your grace, we don't need their trust!” Sagramore was shaking, filled with indignation. “We don't need the druids in this land at all, they are the sworn enemies of our kingdom..."

"Do you want me to start a full-scale war on the druids? Do you think they would be noble enough to step into the open field and give us a solid battle? Lord Sagramore, this is a lesson Camelot has learned. They will go hiding into the forests and start crossing the border with Essetir. You suggest I spend gold and armed men on hunting some renegades in Andor? For all we know, these druids may just be the Essetir tribes that were driven from Camelot by Uther's purge, they may just be returning home now. But we don't know. And I will not send Vyda’s army to the war with Essetir when there are troubles within our kingdom. I mean to know what’s happening in the north. And I will not know, unless I send an envoy. The matter is set and shall not be discussed further. What shall be discussed, though, is the royal tax decree."

The council room looked puzzled, all of them. King Ryence cleared his throat:

"My lords and ladies, ever since the Great Purge and the exhausting years of war with Mercia, Gwynedd and Essetir, King Uther has established the tax system that doesn't let our Camelot blossom fully and freely. What has been done is not only unfair, but also unwise. The crown collects her taxes from all the territories to later redistribute this money among them. To put it simple, the rich regions of Camelot pay for the poor ones, instead of taking some measures to help the poor regions step on their own path to wealth."

"And how can we put the poor regions on the paths to wealth, your grace?" Lord Cynric wondered, amused by the king’s lecture.

"By sharply reducing the tax rates and the sums which we require every territory to remit. Let Asgorath gold remain in Asgorath, let Brechfa gold stay in Brechfa and let Gedref gold belong to Gedref instead of making it travel all the way to Camelot. From this day forth, the crown will require smaller sums, and not in gold, but in silver, so that each land has more gold for foreign trade. I will pass the drafts of the Decree to you, lord Sagramore, so that you can copy it and send to all the territories of Camelot. Please ask the great lords and ladies to voice their concerns and suggestions, I will be more than happy to study them before finalizing the Tax Decree."

"At once, my lord."

"As for Decrees, we've got three decrees signed this week. The Succession Decree: I, Ryence of House Gingawaine, King of Camelot, in the presence of my Council declare Rion of House Gingawaine Prince of Camelot and Heir to the throne. His mother Yrien of House Gingawaine should become Queen Regent of Camelot if Rion doesn't come of age when I pass. Signed in the presence of my Council and my Secretary Deos of House Sagramore.”

"The smallfolk would cheer to that all over the town," Cynric smiled. "The love Rion dearly."

"Two other decrees, regarding the lordships over territories. The castle of Gedref and all its incomes and hunting rights is granted to Hector of House Cynric, who paid most money to the crown."

"I wonder where he's got such money from," Sagramore muttered.

"My father left me a fortune, my lord."

"Never heard of that."

"No wonder," Cynric smirked.

King Ryence continued:

"The castle of Asgorath and all its incomes are to be inherited by Nentres of House Gaheris after Lord Catigern dies."

"Lord Gornemant may take it as an insult, your Grace,” Sagramore _warned_ him. “The castle of Asgorath was thought to pass to Gornemant’s son, Keres."

"The castle of Asgorath was thought to pass to Lady Morgana in the first place. She is, I mean, was Lord Catigern's niece. Now that she's dead, we need to tread carefully. Lord Gornemant may be Lord Catiegrn's cousin, but he can't hope to chew another bit of land, he already is married to Galla Dindrane, the lady of Denaria."

"And why can Nentres hope to chew this land?"

"He has a stronger claim on Asgorath since he is actually the son of Ulwich Gaheris, who once was the prince of Mountain Land,” King Ryence explained. “The matter is settled, Lord Sagramore."

Sagramore looked but defeated. He failed to persuade the king to invade Essetir with the help of Western swords, failed to start another campaign of butchering the druids and failed to keep the future of the castle of Asgorath in House’s Gornemant grasp.

“Your grace,” he said in an almost pleading tone. “My daughter… Sir Vidor, our new champion of the King’s Tourney and the grandson of Vyda Gaheris, seeks a marriage with her.”

“Then marry they will,” Ryence nodded dismissively. “In three days we will begin the talk about the wedding. I know it’s the crown’s duty to help the young hearts of such noble and great houses pay for their feast. And help we shall.”

“Thank you, your grace. And what about Lady Morgana? Shall we not pass a Decree and declare her dead?"

"You may prepare it, my lord. I'm too tired now," Ryence said, thinking of making up some occasion to visit his dear castle of Brechfa sometime soon. _This castle's walls are too narrow for the summer, I'm about to choke in this place._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, we only have three chapters left in this volume before Arthur POV takes over the fick! ^^ 
> 
> 35\. Voices of the Dead - Gwen POV  
> 36\. Sunstone - Merlin POV  
> 37\. A Greeting from the Spirit World - Gwen POV


	35. Voices of the Dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen and Gwaine enjoy the second night together ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen POV 
> 
> NSFW warning ;)

On the second night of Gwaine’s staying at her house, she learnt that pleasure had taste - the acid sweetness of apples carried by Gwaine's lips. She learnt that pleasure had shape. She learnt it every time she would trace the contours of Gwaine's body with her fingers and every time she would let her hand rest on the smooth hardness of his cock. She also heard that pleasure had its own, distinguishable music every time Gwaine would speed up his thrusts and make Gwen blush from the shamelessly squishy and squelching sounds that would echo all over the house.

Gwaine was hungry for lust and greedy for the lasting pleasure - so greedy, in fact, that by the end of their love, she lay on her bedsheets, barely finding strength to keep her ankles on his shoulders. Not that she had to worry much, for Gwaine's grip on her ankles was strong and commanding; the way he would angle her body suggested he wasn't new to the art of love. When she felt out of strengths, she relaxed and closed her eyes and the whole room was gone, save for the shadow game of fire in the hearth and the heat, _his heat_ inside her, the heat that was too much, the heat that kept filling her until it ignited her own fire - the waves of pleasure that started running through her body, making her tingle and moan in a voice that didn't seem to belong with her. She could feel her thighs shaking, and after some time, she felt the warm drops of his seed paint lines on her belly.

"Did you enjoy it?" his voice was coming from somewhere, but she didn't yet have the powers to open her eyes and kept lying still, trying to overcome the feeling of complete freedom and joy that seemed to be filling every cell of her body, preventing her from any sort of motion.

"Oh, Goddess, yes," she muttered weakly. "And I don't even want to know where you've learnt all that... What you did to me with your fingers..."

"I had some experience, princess. Like you, right?"

"I only knew one man. He was my first man. We thought we would marry..."

"Why didn't you?"

"We were sixteen," she said, laughing. "We had to talk about marriages so that making love would not look... would not look like...like"

"Like whoring?"

"Exactly," Gwen nodded, amused by Gwaine's frivolous juggling of words. "So that it wouldn't look like whoring... We made love in the woods."

"There's nothing better than making love outside," Gwaine said approvingly. "Makes you feel one with the whole world."

 _I don't need the whole world. I think you could be enough for me._ Gwen opened her eyes and saw Gwaine, glistening from sweat, lying on his right side and staring at her with uttermost admiration in his eyes. _I am not done,_ his look was speaking. _The night is long and we are young._

She felt his seed going cold on her belly and she reached for the towel. Gwaine's gaze was glued to her nakedness, she could feel it even though she could not see him. _He is acting so boyish_. She turned around, naked, the hearth light mirrored in the drops of sweat all over her skin, and they both burst out laughing.

She didn't know why they were laughing, but they couldn't stop. Some merriment that required neither justification nor explanation was all over the room. The night's hour was late, the moonlight - a pale fire in the streets of the Lower Town. She thought it was far past midnight.

They kept laughing and drinking cider and enjoying the leftovers of supper - the lovemaking had turned them both hungry as though they hadn't broken fast the whole day.

When they sat next to each other, a thought conjured up in her mind - a thought too carefree to meddle up with the calm of the fire-lit room, where the echoes of their act were still reigning in the air, but a thought worth voicing nonetheless.

"You know what?" she proposed, innocently.

"Hm?"

"I just realized I've got a complete stranger in my house."

"Have I seen him?" Gwaine frowned seriously, as though not getting the joke, but it took a brief contact of their eyes for him to smile.

"You can look in the mirror if you want to see this stranger," Gwen giggled.

"Oh... I see! Very smart," Gwaine smirked and let his finger circle her nipple, evoking fresh and vivid memories of the pleasure that felt stronger than southern wine and flower scents.

She breathed in heavily, her arousal not taking much time to follow.

"Where are you from?"

"From Midlands," Gwaine said, his finger sliding down, so tickling and close to her loins.

"You grew up there?"

"Sort of."

"Sort of?" Gwen felt her thighs twitch when his finger stopped at the spot where his touch brought so much pleasure she was ready to scream.

"I spent my childhood there. I was sent away when I was a boy, and never came back."

"Why were you..."

"We best not discuss it on such a night, princess, don't you think?" he asked and teased her by pressing his finger to her cunt, but not strong enough to slide it in.

"We best not," she agreed, rising to her feet, with pink dancing on her cheeks. "Let's make more love, if you want, I just want to have some water..."

"I think you'll have some time for water later," he said, grabbing her suddenly and lifting her in the air to place her onto the table.

"Gwaine!" she exclaimed, the protest too fake to believe in.

"Can't keep myself from... When you're naked, I just lose it," he whispered, gifting her a warm wet kiss before pushing her so that she lay on the table.

"Gwaine, it's my kitchen table, it's where I..."

The words got stuck in her throat when she felt her knees touch her shoulders. She bit her lip at the awkward feeling. _I'm about to be fucked on the table like some tavern wench... Oh..._

She was lying on the table, Gwaine was pressing her knees to her shoulders and his hardness was teasing her, and then... _Goddess_.

Her loins, still aching a little from their intense lovemaking in the bed, welcomed Gwaine's cock eagerly, and she closed her eyes, for she dared not look at him, caught between shame and unearthly pleasure... He kept her in the position where the tension in her muscles added to the tune of their act.

 _Keep doing it. Oh, Gwaine..._ She let the moans of pleasure escape her mouth and burst out laughing when she realized they had forgotten to draw the curtains. _Bloody hell yes, it would be jolly good to let my neighbors see and tell me I'm a slut..._

"What's wrong?" Gwaine asked, pausing when he was all the way inside her.

"We've forgotten about the window..."

"What? The window? Oh, right... Wait for me!"

 _And where am I supposed to go,_ she thought, smiling.

"Bloody hell!" she heard Gwaine's roar, and nearly fell off the table. "Who is this fella?"

"Fella? What fella?" Gwen saw Gwaine by the window, his chest in silver mail of moonlight.

"There is a fella, looking at me," Gwaine said, visibly nervous, his hand trying to cover his cock.

Gwen wrapped herself in the blanket and approached the window carefully. _Only drunkards wander the streets at such an hour. Fella?_ The physical joy of love made it hard for fear to wash over her and she dared not, would not even think about Rion.

She peered out of the edge of the curtain: the figure was standing at the corner of the opposite house. In dark-blue velvet with high collar, with black worn-out gloves and a crown resting on his head... She shrieked as she recognized _Uther Pendragon_ standing on the street where she lived. It was as though he had come back to life – had it not been for the sinister glow of his bluish skin. Gwaine, who understood little about what was going on, jumped from the sound of her fear, and when they looked at the street, it was empty.

Suddenly, a gust of ice cold wind slammed the door and tore the window open; the fire in the hearth died, as though swallowed by the breath of something evil that broke into her house. Gone were the merriment and the aura of protection that had been filling her house a moment ago. Her nails clutched into Gwaine's skin when she heard the voice in the wind:

_"MURDERER...GWEN...MURDERER! MURDERER!"_

If Gwaine had not been there, if her hand had not been locked in his, she would have fainted. He grabbed some of their clothes and literally shoved her out of the house, and she turned up outside naked, the way she'd come into the world. The shock of what she had just seen, or heard, or felt was so strong she couldn't even speak when Gwaine was trying to somehow put her sleeping gown on her and simultaneously trying to tie up his breeches. When Gwaine succeeded, he squeezed her hand even tighter and pulled her into the night, and in a moment, their white bare feet were flashing in the mature darkness.


	36. A Greeting from the Spirit World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen and Gwaine think of the ways to deal with the prospects of Uther's ghost haunting Gwen.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen POV

Gwen was walking alone down the street, the warmth of Gwaine's hand still on her palm. He had stumbled upon the sharp stone and fell, injuring his ankle. "I can't keep up with you, princess, you better run, run, run!" And run she did, for soon after Gwaine urged her to go on and to seek shelter, the gust of same sinister wind attacked them and Uther Pendragon stepped out of the whirlwind of dust, menace and death on his withered expression. Gwaine pushed her off to make her save herself, and she ran, the soil hard and sharp under her bare feet. Her breath had nearly left her when she finally decided to stop at the street where the Tavern of the Rising Sun was. She wanted to knock on the door and ask for the innkeeper and wake the whole damned city and tell 'em all there was a ghost in the Lower Town... But she did not. Something was wrong about the inn. Something was not right about the windows without curtains, the windows behind which the darkness was thicker than in the summer night's air. Something was wrong about the building without a door. She turned around and realized it wasn't the street she needed, it was some other street. The Street of Silk? The door of one of the house swung open and the girl from the shop of dresses rushed outside, shouting " _HE'S HERE! HERE! SAVE YOURSELF, GWEN_!". Gwen could hear the door creaking.

Gwen sat up in her bed, knocking some cup from the bedside table and drawing the breath as though it was her last. The door indeed was creaking, and Gwaine was frozen at the threshold, a clumsy pale-faced lover-boy with breakfast on his tray.

"Oh, Gwaine," she muttered and fell on the bedsheet, feeling dizzy and weak.

"I didn't mean to wake you up, princess," he said, stepping over the threshold and placing the tray on the bedside table, the pieces of the broken cup crisping under his boots.

"You did the right thing to wake me, I was seeing a terrible dream... There was Uther," Gwen swallowed and shook her head, as though refusing to recall all the monstrosities of her dream world.

"It's fine. It's dawn. You must eat and we shall leave at once," Gwaine assured her, sitting down on the edge of her bed and running fingers through her hair.

"Where will you have us go?" she asked, taking his hand into hers to have proof that his warmth was real, coming from daytime rather than from the nightworld.

"South," he said.

"Why south?"

"I've got friends in the south who won't turn us down," Gwaine said, repeating what he kept telling her the whole night. _Come dawn,_ he said _, and we shall set off and we shall be far away from this place, this place and all its wicked magic of dragons and ghosts. I won't let dead kings hurt you._

Gwen closed her eyes because she didn't want him to see her tears. She didn't want to appear weak and miserable, but it hurt so much no matter what she tried to feign. It hurt that the calm had lasted too little before the storm. _And I don't even know if Uther is the storm, or merely the first wave._

_Last night, we were running through the night, we were knocking on the inn doors like crazy, and the innkeeper thought it was just some construction worker and his whore... I didn't care, I didn't care what he said, all I pleaded was to let us in... I was screaming, telling him about the ghost..._

They had been so lucky that Gwaine kept the coins he had earned at the construction in the pocket of his breeches. They paid for a large room with a hearth where the flames kept dancing all night as they were talking and drinking water so that they would not fall asleep.

"We can't go south to your friends," Gwen said, hugging her own knees and looking out of the window. The sky was murky and black-blue, as though someone had spilled ink into a washing basin. "Uther may meet us on the way and..."

"Why would he be searching for us in the south?"

"Because I helped Rion poison him! The blame for Uther's death is partly on me! You've heard him, Gwaine, you have! He called me murderer... He wants to avenge me..."

"We will be far away..."

"Do you think distance means anything to ghosts? He must have traveled a long distance from the spirit world to get here already, south isn't far for him..."

"But he didn't follow us here!"

"He didn't," Gwen repeated.

Gwaine looked helplessly angry. His behavior suggested the whole situation was a humiliating experience for him: being threatened by something he couldn't fight with force. _He wants us to go south. What if Uther is back for me and me alone? He will be following me and if we come across his ghost on some lonely road... My heart would jump out of my throat, oh, Goddess..._

"We can't be traveling south without... Gwaine, if we come across his ghost... I have no idea what ghosts can do and how dangerous they are. But I'm sure that all the strength of your shoulders would not be enough to protect us from the wronged spirit thirsty for revenge."

"Is there a thing in the world that can protect us from the wronged spirit thirsty for revenge?" Gwaine asked, frowning.

"There is. Sorcery," Gwen whispered, still fearful of the way any discussion of sorcery could earn a prison cell under Uther's reign.

"But Merlin's far away," Gwaine was blinking absent-mindedly.

"So what? Merlin never had anything to do with sorcery. He was fulfilling Gaius's orders, he always was," Gwen said. "It's Gaius we need."

"How will you get to the Western Tower?"

"I will not. I will go to the court and report what I've seen to the Prince," Gwen said, shuddering from the thought of looking into Yrien's eyes again.

***

The sky was tearfully dark, yet no raindrops were falling on the dusty road. The wind was knocking on the window shutters and howling through the narrow lanes of the Lower Town, and it seemed like the storm was promised, but there was no storm, only the suppressed anger in the sky. _The weather knows_. _The weather feels it's not alright that the dead walk among the living._

"You're doing the wrong thing," Gwaine said, stretching his hand to see if there'd be raindrops on his palm. "This princeling has no concern..."

"This princeling is as much involved in the murder of the late king as I am," Gwen responded tiredly. "He will know it's grave danger. Uther might come after him once he... deals with me..."

"He will not deal with you!" Gwaine exclaimed, taking her by the hand. "They will let you see Gaius unless they wish to meet my swo..."  
"You will not be threatening the petition-taker with the sword!" Gwen said reproachfully and hit him on the shoulder lightly. "Are you mad? He will have your head!"

"Uther will have both our heads if you don't see Gaius!" Gwaine barked back.

"Gwaine, please, let me proceed. See me to the bridge, but no farther. I have grown up at the court household, I know how to talk to them, I've learnt it when I was a little girl."

"Fine," Gwaine said, grinding his teeth. "But I will be waiting for you at this very bridge, and if you don't come back by sunset, I will storm the bloody castle alone, you watch me."

Even though there was little merriment in the situation, Gwen smiled and felt the warm tender feeling spread through her. She loved having someone by her side, loved to be cared about and watched over. She hated being alone, and alone she had been. Alone and abandoned in the cells where nobody...

"I will see Gaius, I promise," Gwen said. "Now kiss me and wish me luck."

They were standing on the western bridge and Gwaine held her by the waist as the robust wind was tousling their hair, and Gwen didn't want their kiss to ever end.

***

The petition-taker resided in small chambers, in the house before the main gates. It was not the same old and well-mannered grey-haired man that used to be there when Lord Sagramore was the Councilor of Camelot. The new one, fat, with grease from cheese and sauce besieging his beard, clearly belonged with the household Lady Yrien had established. The lack of papers and seals on his table suggested he didn't take much interest in his job.

"What you want, birdie?" he asked, failing to deal with a resonate burp.

"I want to see the prince, my lord," Gwen said respectfully, although she was sure the man she talked to had no lordship.

"Aye, we all want, don't we? And what are you, might I ask? Another bride for the young prince? When will you stop doing this?"

"Bride? I'm no bride!" Gwen said, frowning and blushing. _What is he talking about?_

"So more's the pity for you, birdie. You're far past age, if you ask me, but..."

"I've been brought here out of serious reasons!" Gwen raised her voice.

"I don't doubt it. What is wrong? Someone stole your sheep? Some drunk knight crashed your house's fence during the horse racing?"

"No," Gwen was tempted to lose patience. "I have a serious incident to report to the prince."

"The prince will listen to no petitions today," the man cleaned the grease off his beard and licked his fingers. "It's an order."

"What about the Councilor of Camelot?"

"Lady Yrien has postponed all her duties for today, too. Don't ask me why. So best tell me of your incident and get lost, birdie," he said with a disgusting smile.

"I have come out of concerns for prince's life. I have acquired information that suggests there is an attack planned, the assault on the prince. The prince or the king must hear it."

The man's face turned purple: it looked as though he was choking.

"Assault on... on prince's life?" the man mumbled, as though he was no longer able to move his tongue properly.

"Indeed. The prince must hear about it, even if he does not intend to meet any petitioners today. This is not a question of petition, my lord. This is the question of the safety of the royal family. My lord, I forgot to introduce myself. I am not some girl, I was the maidservant of Lady Yrien and Prince Rion. I am the source of information they can trust. You may as well turn me down, but if something bad happens and Lady Yrien learns you have ignored the warning..."

"Oh, shut your mouth!" the man roared as he jumped to his feet, reaching for a chain with keys. "I will take you to the royal family, I will, but if you're lying, you will lose your head, you understand it?!"

"Much too well," Gwen nodded.

The man hurried outside, and Gwen followed him. The road was known so well to her she thought she'd be able to walk it with her eyes closed. But she needed to keep her eyes open and to prick her ears, for the castle didn't seem to be the place she used to live in. There were new servants, new guards and new rules. In order to get to the throne room, Gwen had to pass three check points. At the gates, she had to tell the same story to the spearmen, who asked for the chief spearman to be brought to take her inside the castle. When she stepped inside, she realized the guards were occupying nearly every doorstep, and the castle had a different air - there was some tension, even though the yellow banners of House Gingawaine intended to add the summer carefree vibe to the halls and corridors.

When they went upstairs and reached the balconies by the northern tower, she realized she was on the way to the royal chambers, but they were stopped again - this time by the castle guard, who questioned and searched both, Gwen and the spearman who was accompanying her. She had to retell the story again, trying to pour more threats into it, to make it look as though the prince's life was in danger - but she did her best to stay away from the details, refusing to reveal everything to anyone other than the prince or the king himself.

"To hell with the lot of you," the guard spit and agreed to escort her to the Royal Tower. "You speak well and you don't look like the lowborn scum, but if you're lying..."

They walked to the Royal chambers through the balconies from which Gwen could glance at the desolated yard. _Something is wrong. Why would they keep so many guards inside the castle? It's like they are preparing for something... Or looking for an intruder... Or..._

"Are you mad?" Gwen heard the chief of the Royal Tower guards curse when the knight escorting her delivered the news. "I will not present this girl to the king! Nor to the prince!"

"She says..."

"To hell with her. She says what she says, but Yrien will skin me alive if I...."

"She will skin you again if she learns you have ignored the message with a threat to the royal family," Gwen said, trembling at her own bravery.

"Watch your tongue, wench!" the tower's guard said. "You don't know..."

"Oh, I do know. I know Lady Yrien too well, to my own sorrow. I was her servant. And I know that I best deliver the message about the threat to her son, for she cherishes him and she will have my head if she learns that I knew something and didn't report. And learn she will. And..."

"Bloody hell," the tower's guard said. "Do come in. Have you searched her?"

The first storey of the royal tower had a spacious hall with doors to the room of the guards and servants. There were four guards and the chief one, but before they could make a further sound, they both heard the steps.

The steps were light, as though someone was dancing down the staircase. Yrien's dark-grey robes were flapping in the air, their shadows - black wings on the torch-lit walls. Gwen's pulse sped up no matter how much she tried to guard her calmness. There was something wrong about the Councilor of Camelot. Her hair was not combed - Gwen couldn't recall a day when Lady Yrien would not devote half her morning to combing her hair with the help of special oriental oils. At the moment, her auburn hair were falling on her shoulders, as tousled as hay which had been through the rain. Her features were unrecognizable, too, drained by the expression of irritation and utter panic. _She is afraid of something._

"I've told you not to let anybody in save for that old hen," Yrien's tone was venomous. "Providing Didnrane returns from her silly embassage to the druid rebellion rather than chooses to stay with her fol... You!"

Her index finger pointed at Gwen who wanted to jump behind the guard's back to escape the fire of Yrien's gaze.

"My lady, this girl says she was your servant and she brings some information concerning the safety of Prince Rion," the guard said in a low and measured voice. "We thought we had no right to ignore such threats."

"You _thought_. Surprising. Well, leave us then. Guard the door, see that nobody else gets in the tower."

The guards bowed down, turned around and walked away as fast as his feet permitted, visibly afraid that Yrien would change her mind. Gwen was left alone in the room with her most dreaded enemy, yet something was different from the night in cells. Somehow the thought that Gwaine was waiting for her at the western bridge served as a thin yet important shield against Yrien's gaze. The disturbance in the air was luminous.

"What do you want? What threat was the fool mumbling about?" Yrien asked with annoyance.

"I saw Uther's ghost. I wanted your permission to see Gaius."

The darkness that dawned in Yrien's eyes was so intense it seemed it would dim the light of torches.

"Uther's ghost?" she said with doubt ever present to her tone.

"Yes."

"How? Where?"

"It came to my house, my lady. Uther called me murderer and promised to come for Rion," Gwen lied, feeling that it was her only chance to secure a date with the old physician.

"Thank Goddess," the relief in Yrien's tone was vibrant. "Follow me, at once!"

Yrien's grey robes were flying up the staircase like a bat, and Gwen rushed to follow the Councilor of Camelot upstairs. They entered a room on the second storey, with green curtains, rich carpets and a silver-hilted sable on the wall. A young lad was standing by the window, in an oversized grey tunic, dark pants and hunting boots. When he turned to face her, Gwen recognized Rion.

"Mother? Gwen?!" he exclaimed, trying to make himself look more presentable.

"Son, there's still hope," Yrien said. "Go fetch Gaius at once. Tell him his we... his apprentice is here and tell him she demands to see him. Go, Rion, don't stand here waiting!"

Rion nodded and hurried to the door, but the prince couldn't keep himself from looking at Gwen. When their eyes met, the night when he had found her alone in the castle during the summer feast flashed, and all his kindness and his betrayal, all the promises he kept and broke somehow squeezed into that look.

"You'll want some wine, won't you? Oh, don't be so afraid, this one is not poisoned, I can promise," Yrien poured the cherry-red wine that smelled rich and fruity into glass goblets. "I've been telling Rion he's too young to taste wine, but... He's a prince now, and I'm but a simple Councilor of Camelot..."

Gwen didn't understand what was going on. Yrien was flying around the room like a happy meadow butterfly, caring about wine and talking about her son. _She sent him after Gaius at once. What is wrong here?_

"Here, take it, take it, silly girl... I bet you don't taste such wine every day... Oh, here look at me, I shall drink it first. Look!"

Yrien tasted the drink and swallowed it eagerly, her cheeks turned pink.

"It's safe. Drink it, silly girl."

Gwen obeyed and drank the wine. _It's as sweet as wild berries._

"Good. Now we wait for the old fool," Yrien said happily. "Oh, you will forgive my manners, right? He's no fool. In fact, if he's a fool, then we can only be helped by a fool now, and that's amusing..."

"We?" Gwen asked carefully.

"Do you think you're the only one who saw Uther last night? He came for… He came for us all. He attempted to touch me, but I screamed and ran out of my room..."

_Then he is coming for everybody who is to blame for his death._

"The king has seen Uther, too, and he has fallen sick... And Rion, Rion... We sent for Gaius at once, but the stinking goat told us it was what we deserved... Goddess, if Ryence had not been there to stop me, you would've seen Gaius's head on a spike on the castle walls..."

_And my head could be gracing the neighboring spike, I guess._

"But now it's different. He loves you, he cares for you a great deal... He never had children, and you're like a child to him. You and that serving boy of Arthur, whatever his name was..."

"His name is Merlin."

"Was Merlin," Yrien corrected her. "He must have died in Arthur's patrol mission in Brechfa."

 _You will be surprised to know he is alive, but I will not grant you this pleasure._ Suddenly, Gwen's heart was filled with pride for Merlin who managed to stay alive against all odds and was one of the few men who could pose a threat to the new king. _He and Arthur._

"It's so hard to influence a man when he has neither wife nor children," Yrien resumed, walking from window to bed. "We looked for you, but your house was a mess and you were not there... We thought you've gone away... But now that you're here, and now that Gaius will know you're in trouble, too, he will have to help us all... He will have no other way."

 _He can tell us all to bloody go to hell, for a start_ , Gwen thought, but she didn't believe Gaius would serve revenge for Uther’s murder at the expense of her life. _He is caring. And mindful._

"I told Ryence before it all started... I told he would not be able to pull his trick. I told him he would never do it alone, to gain this throne, that he would need friends at court, and he never had friends at court... I told him this castle was an evil place, cursed maybe... Vivienne told me so many stories about the ghosts of the dungeons when I would come for summer stay... I hated those summer stays and Vivienne was the only soul to keep me company, yet she had to be so careful about what she would say... Through all those years, I never learned that she was the sister of a dragonlord, never..."

Gwen had never seen her like this. The Yrien she had grown accustomed to was a vile and treacherous creature who would always control her behavior and her expression of feelings. This Yrien seemed to be talking too much and inviting Gwen to the subjects she had best kept private. _Maybe it's wine?_

"But Ryence somehow did it all... As though he worked some magic, right? He is the king, but this... ghost... Only in this damned castle can the ghosts walk and..."

The door swung open and Yrien jumped from fright and let the goblet slip out of her hands; it reached the floor and smashed to pieces. Rion walked in, and Gaius, a thin Gaius with overgrown hair and bony cheeks followed the prince.

_Goddess, what have they done to him? Don't they feed him? Don't they let him wash?_

"It's a bad omen, my lady," Gaius said, pointing at the pieces of the glass on the floor before noticing Gwen. "Gwen, my child!"

Gaius rushed to give her a hug, and Gwen was so happy to see him safe. She petted him on the back and kissed him on the cheek even though he smelled as awful as a fat kitchen maid that had spent the whole day over the boiling pots.

"Gwen, do they treat you well?" Gaius asked, ignoring the presence of Yrien in the room.

"They don't treat me, Gaius. I am free. I no longer serve at court household," she said.

"Very touching," Yrien cleared her throat. "Before you complete your round of wonders, may I remind you that we're not here to discuss each other. Rion, for the sake of it, close the door!"

Rion obeyed without a word, and Yrien stared at Gaius - it appeared that her gaze had claws.

"Tell him, silly girl," she said, implying Gwen. "Tell him what you saw last night."

"Oh, Gwen," Gaius said in a weak voice. "You saw Uther, too?"

"I did," Gwen nodded hysterically. "I saw him in my own house with my own eyes! He called me a murdered, Gaius, and made the fire die in the hearth..."

"I fear that's the least he can do," Gaius said in a voice that denied hope. "Can you describe him?"

"It was Uther! Only... pale and blue."

"Were there any visible features suggesting the decay of his body?"

"The decay?" Gwen frowned. "No, what decay? It was just Uther..."

"But his skin didn't correspond to its natural tone, did it?"

"It was pale and bluish, as though.... as though he was drowned," Gwen said, her voice too high.

"Then we may be sure it's neither a wraith nor a shade," Gaius concluded, and Gwen was sure the air went cold in the room.

"Does it matter?" Yrien demanded, her insecurity betraying her incompetence in the matters of magic.

"Of course it does," Gaius nodded. "The forms of life after the soul departs the body vary. Wraiths are creatures of sorcery, the living dead bodies made to walk and fulfill the promises they made when they were alive. They have no physical needs and can't be killed by a mortal weapon, for they are already dead. The sorcerer or witch who can turn a corpse into a wraith must be powerful, but the wraith obeys to no sorcerer's will, only to his own promise and the unresolved act of his former life. Shades are different. They are poor, tormented souls summoned from their rest by the necromancer's art, the darkest of all the arts practiced at the Isle of the Blessed. Shades, unlike wraiths, are under the power of the necromancer who summoned them. Shades may be molded to the sorcerer's or witch's will, but shades can be easily killed."

Nobody dared to break Gaius's speech, and it seemed that even the skies were trying to postpone the rain to not disturb the physician's lecture.

"Ghosts are different. They are most dangerous."

"Why?" Rion’s voice seemed weak.

"They are bound neither by the promises of their mortal life nor by the command of the necromancer. The ghosts are independent, and their behaviour... They can harm someone they used to love. They can help someone they used to hate. One can never predict what is on the ghost's mind. And if the walls can be enough to protect you from a wraith or a shade, a ghost can walk past any walls, however thick."

"Then we're doomed?" Gwen mouthed.

"You're not. There is something that can protect you from a ghost, although it will not make him go away."

"Speak!" Yrien eyes were on fire.

"The salt of Meredoc."

"What?" Yrien seemed furious. "Salt? Salt?!"

"Not _just_ salt, my lady," Gaius deflected her fury as though waving himself off a notorious fly. "Meredoc salt, salt from the Isle of the Blessed. It will keep the ghost away from you, but it will not return the ghost to the spirit world."

"And what must we do with it? Eat?" Yrien demanded.

"Eat? No, my lady. You must scatter this salt around your bed, so that the ghost won't harm you after sunset. The ghosts only have real power between sunset and dawn."

"And if we scatter salt around our bed..."

"The ghost won't be able to penetrate the circle. The person inside the circle will be safe," Gaius assured her.

"And how many nights will I have to sleep in the circle of salt?! What will make Uther's ghost go away?!"

"The same magic that brought him back into our world. Don't ask me about this magic, my lady, for I will not be able to provide an answer. The dark arts are not exactly what I'm good at."

"You have this salt?" Yrien asked almost _politely_.

"I do, my lady. But I would love to ask you for a favor in return."

"I will grant you freedom and allow you to occupy your chambers, but you will remain under guards. So that you suffer greatly if your salt trick refuses to work," Yrien added.

"And if my salt trick works, you will allow me to take Gwen back as my apprentice," Gaius said insistingly.

Yrien took moments to think it over.

"Fine. Do as you please with her. Where is this salt?"

"I think the prince will help me with it."

"Go, Rion, go!" Yrien shouted. “Don’t be standing here until the sunset! Bring this damned salt and see that you make it quick!"

Gwen wanted to ask for some time to spend with Gaius, but Gaius sent her a look that read calmness and assurance, and that promised another talk – under more peaceful circumstances. _He knows we better not test the limits of Yrien’s kindness. Oh, he’s so kind. He’s so kind he thinks about me even in the grim hour as such._

When Rion and Gaius left the room, Yrien’s euphoria was gone.

“For your own sake, I hope the physician is right about that damned salt. Else…”

Gwen wished she were deaf to Yrien’s threats. The sky was glooming.

***

“We’re acting like children,” Gwaine said, choking on his laughter. “Or like dogs.”

He was standing on his knees in Gwen’s house, trying to scatter salt from an overburnt clay bottle Gaius had given her before Yrien sent her out of the castle, rudely and abruptly. Gwen was on her knees, too, crawling into the opposite direction with the grains of Meredoc salt on her palm.

“We’re not dogs. And there’s nothing to laugh about… Oh, Gwaine, really, stop laughing… See, the sun’s already low. We must hurry. Gaius said the ghosts have their power from sunset to dawn…”

“And what… say, what is going to happen if the wind blows?”

“The wind?” Gwen looked puzzled.

“Yes. The wind. What if the wind blows the salt away and ruins this circle?”

“I haven’t thought about,” Gwen acknowledged with horror swallowing her belly. “Try it.”

Gwaine draw a deep breath and unleashed it at the line of salt on the floor. To their surprise, the grains didn’t move an inch, they were lying still and unaffected.

“Don’t move,” Gwaine was frowning. “The salt’s magical?”

“Oh, no, it’s not. We’re going to protect ourselves from the ghost with an ordinary kitchen salt,” Gwen snorted. “Use your wits.”

“Don’t be so nervous. If the physician said it’s going to work…”

“Gaius can make a mistake. I can’t help being nervous, Gwaine…”

They had cleared the center of her house and pulled her bed into the middle of the room and scattered the salt all around it. Gwen couldn’t believe they were defying the wronged spirit of Uther Pendragon with the method she had learnt in the fairy-tales when she was a little girl. _Salt. Who could’ve thought?_   

They had ensured the fire in the hearth by sunset, and their bed was encircled by three lines of salt. They were lying on the bedsheets, all dressed and ready to run if need be, unlike the previous time. So long as there remained the noise of the evening fuss across the window, Gwen wasn’t afraid, but when night descended, Gwen threw the blanket over her, unable to stand the tension. _Can people die from fear alone?_

Gwaine’s presence was everything. She was resting in his arms, and he didn’t let go of her, meaning to show her he was the one to go through all the bloody hells with her, be it the court coups or angry ghosts. Broad-shouldered as he was, even he displayed the distant signs of unrest. But in his arms, she felt safer, she felt her own breath rising and falling, rising and falling, rising and…

Gwen only realized she had fallen asleep because she felt Gwaine pushing her shoulder. She tried to take the blanket off her face, but she felt Gwaine stopping her from it.

“Don’t look, princess. But be ready to move,” he whispered in a tone of a child scared by a nightmare.

 _What? Ready to move?_ She threw the blanket off and realized the night was mature and rich with darkness. _I must have fallen asleep_! The fire was burning brightly, making the shadows of the furniture dense and vivid.

“What’s going on?” Gwen whispered and grabbed Gwaine’s arm. The long-haired man was holding a knife in his hand.

“I think I’ve heard someone outside…”

“Maybe it’s someone… someone…”

As she was speaking, she realized the complete pretense of her hope for a late night’s intruder that would have nothing to do with Uther. The door, all of a sudden, began to creak and opened slowly to reveal nobody in that darkness. Gwen’s heart was beating so hard she was afraid it would break her ribs. _Oh, Goddess, please help me, please protect us, please, make this salt work…_

Gwen was looking at the emptiness in the hole of the doorstep, knowing that she’d better take her eyes off this void, but she couldn’t resist. She wanted to look into the eyes of her fear. She wanted to know when the danger would come.

She didn’t see it, though, she felt it when the cold wrapped around them and when she felt the kisses of ice on her skin. Gwaine’s arm jerked, and the next moment, their breath were warm fumes in the cold air. The gust of wind slammed through the open door, and the fire died in the hearth the same way it did the previous night. Gwen knew what was coming.

The tall figure appeared out of the doorway. He walked in slowly, and Gwen screamed, hoping her screams would attract her neighbors. Uther’s face was the mask of death, the expression of righteous anger and there was something in his eyes that made Gwen want to lose her sight. Gwaine threw his arms around Gwen protectively, and they both watched Uther march their way until he hit something in the air.

Gwen let out a sigh. Uther made a step again and it looked as though there was an impenetrable and invisible wall in the air. His expression turned to lethal fury, and suddenly, Gwen’s table rose and was flying at them, but it crashed against an intangible obstacle in the air and smashed to pieces. The next moment, her chair, candles and forks were flying at them, but nothing could hit them, nothing could pass the circle of Meredoc salt. Uther let out a terrible lynching cry and vanished, leaving only a puff of black smoke in the air.

For some time, Gwen was trembling in Gwaine’s arms, unable to recover her breath.

“This salt worked,” Gwaine observed in a grave whisper. “You think we should start the fire?’

“No! No! Gwaine, we must not step out of the circle before dawn, Uther may come back…”

“Alright, alright. You’re fine?”

“A ghost just tried to kill us, haven’t you noticed?” Gwen knew Gwaine was laughing.

However, there was nothing bemusing about the silence that was lasting after Uther’s failed attack. Gwen was still mindful of every rustle, every shadow play in the moonlight. She was tempted to close the door, but she was more afraid that Uther would reappear before she’d jump back into the circle.

She didn’t know how much time had passed, but when her eyelids were feeling heavy again, she heard the sound – a deep and sonorous boom of iron and copper. And another one. And another one, and another one… The bells were soon singing a song of grief she had once heard before.

“The bells?” Gwaine frowned.

“Not just some bells,” Gwen’s heart sank in fear. “When these bells ring, it can mean only one thing… The king is dead!”   

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this was the last Gwen POV chapter in this volume. We've got a Merlin POV chapter "Sunstone" left, and then this fic will be taken over by Arthur POV! <3 
> 
> Thank you so much for following!
> 
> Ch. 37 "Sunstone" will be out on Tuesday, March. 20 ^^


	37. Sunstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Lancelot travel into the Perilous Land

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

Merlin woke up from the appetising aroma of fried fish teasing his nostrils. His eyelids felt heavy, his back was aching, his arms disobeyed and were weak, but he couldn't recall being that happy for a long time. _Arthur's safe and he's on his way to Nemeth! He is escorted by Nemeton guards, he will be safe!_

He realized Lancelot had woken up long ago and had even managed to catch some fish to make a fresh breakfast for them. What surprised him was that Lancelot had covered him with his own cloak, a gesture that made his sleep under the forest sky as comfortable as though he was sleeping in the castle chambers.

The morning was ripe with birds' tunes and tender gusts of grass-strewn winds, and the bright blue of the sky made Merlin squint.  

"I was beginning to think of kicking you on the ribs to make you wake up," Lancelot said, smiling, his expression tensed as he was trying not to burn the fish. "Did Arthur always let you sleep for so long?"  
Merlin giggled.

"Never. He'd use cruel ways to punish me when I'd oversleep... Like pouring cold bucket of water over my head or making me clean horseshit from the royal stables. Hated it," Merlin shuddered, thinking of the awful stench. _Lord Cynric always had better stables with beautiful white horses,_ Merlin thought.

"By the way… Have you watered the horses?" Merlin asked, fighting a lazy yawn.

"Me? No. They watered themselves, there's plenty of water in the stream. I've fed 'em, and I think they're ready to move,"

"I worry for them. We spent the whole day riding yesterday... Maybe give them some more rest?"

"It's up to you to decide. You said we must hurry."

"We must," Merlin nodded, but he realized there was little confidence to his tone.

He drew a deep breath and let his hand touch the earth to feel the tickling tenderness of the summer grass. Merlin wanted to clear his mind and concentrate on the powers of the forests of Andor, to feel the unity with the ancient forces of nature, but the sunstone was too heavy and too disturbing on his chest. It had acquired a secret boom of its own, a notorious glow Merlin could _hear_ in his head. The stone was beginning to draw his life forces with matchless intensity. _I must hurry._

But he wanted to linger a little longer, though, wanted to cover himself with the traveling cloaks and close his eyes and be back to that serene garden where Arthur would be waiting for him. _What was this place? Why was there a green dragon in the sky? What was Arthur doing there?_

"Why are you smiling?" Lancelot's voice knocked him off the attempt to fall asleep again. _Alright. I must hurry._

"I've just met Arthur in my dream," Merlin said, throwing the blanket-cloaks off and approaching the fireplace.

“Met? You mean saw?” 

“No,” Merlin wouldn’t take off his smile even if he were ordered to. “I met Arthur. We talked and...”

Lancelot would’ve dropped the fish fillet on the ground had Merlin not made the white crisped meat levitate in the air. Lancelot grabbed it and put it on a wide green leaf. 

“You mean to tell me Arthur has magic, too?” Lancelot asked, sounding worried.

“What? Arthur? Magic?” Merlin burst out laughing. “That would be a scene to die for! No, he doesn’t. He’s wearing the moonstone, though, and the moonstone magic must have somehow... Truth be told, I have no idea... I have never met anybody in dreams before.”

“And what did Arthur tell you?” Lancelot wondered, inviting Merlin to join him for breakfast. 

“That he is fine and well-guarded. That he is on the way to Nemeth and that everything is flowing according to our plan.”

 _Except for Nemeton has refused to rise for Arthur without Lord Pellinore’s leave. Gedref is now our only hope. What if the castle of Gedref refuses to rise for Owaine and Arthur? Best not think about it, best not..._  

“Merlin?” 

Merlin blinked and stared at Lancelot, who was chewing the river fish in a manner that would inspire hunger even in an overfed man. 

“Sorry, I got caught up in thoughts and...”

“I was asking: have you ever been that close to, you know, exploring your forces?”

“Exploring my forces?”

“Oh, Merlin, I trust your magic can be used for something other than polishing Arthur’s armor or preventing my fish from falling on the ground. You are far more powerful,” Lancelot said with shades of accusation to his tone. 

“How do you know I am powerful?” Merlin asked innocently. 

“I saw you slaughter a griffin with your magic last year. And the day before yesterday, you summoned a bloody dragon! A dragon, Merlin! A real dragon!” 

_I would gladly abandon my Dragonlord nature if it could bring all those people back to life. All those people who died during Kilgharrah’s attack on Camelot._

“A dragon is a weapon, Merlin! It can burn armies, even towns...” 

“I never thought about using Kilgharrah as a weapon,” Merlin disagreed fiercely. “He is my soul brother. Not that I like him much, but we don’t choose brothers, I suppose.”

“But If King Ryence sends an army against Arthur, an army vastly outnumbering those who will rise for Arthur... You will have to use the dragon, right?” 

The longer the silence lasted, the more doubts were traveling through his mind. _Lancelot is a warrior, it’s natural that he’s thinking about weapons... But Arthur is not a warrior. He is the king. There is a difference between a warrior and a king. But if Ryence sends an army against Gedref... If Ryence refuses to settle things peacefully... Kilgharrah will be the only way to hold Ryence from war._

“I’d be lying if I said I would not risk everything for the sake of keeping Arthur safe. But Kilgharrah... The dragon shall only be a tool of deterrence, not a weapon of the war.”

Lancelot nodded, but there was something pitying about the look he was giving Merlin. 

“You’re a good lad, Merlin, with kind heart... But trust me, not all the other men are like you. I’ve been to Mercia and to Essetir. I’ve served as a mercenary and I’ve learnt the nature of warriors... Ryence will never appreciate deterrence. It’s only the strength he can be treated with.”

***

The northern parts of Andor smelled of magic. There was a heavy, broody air about Andor once the forests had thinned and the horses slowed down as the land turned into rolling hills. Bald were the hillsides, and the wind was howling over the wasteland in a devastating silent manner. Merlin caught Lancelot's look, and he could read it too well to misinterpret it. _We can still turn back_ , Lancelot tried to say without speaking. _Do you know what you are doing?_

Merlin was glad Lancelot was brave and loyal enough to follow him rather mindlessly, for had those question been voiced, the young warlock wouldn't have given convincing answers. _I don't know this Fisher King. I don't if there is this Fisher King at all, don't know if he's waiting for me..._

_But that's the only way. Gaius is helpless about sunstone, Queen Andor, who is behind the magic of sunstone and moonstone, is long dead, and Perilous Land is the dragon's advice. It's my last hope. The only hope to see Arthur again._

When he thought about Arthur, his heart resonated with an easy gallop, and the visions of the greenery and the flowers filled his mind. _That was just the dream. I bet there are many gardens in the south, the gardens where we can spend so much time._

There was no real path to follow, but the horses were somehow managing to follow the track that was winding up and up, into naked hills that were changing into stony crowns rising higher and higher. The sky was cold and grey, and by the end of the second day of their journey Merlin felt as though he was traveling in November rather than in July. The road was the one paved by nature, a wide track between the stony hills, the dry soil as lifeless as the tomb stones. The rampant feeling of hostility radiated by the land was even worse than the weather, for it was an aura, something the horses felt, too, judging by the way they'd neigh with every new gust of wind.

Lancelot suggested they'd camp when they found a tiny lake that resembled an oversized puddle in the gathering dusk.

"Who knows when we're going to find the next stream, or lake," he shrugged, dismounting. "The horses are tired. All the sharp stones on the road, they make the ride exhausting for them, I tell you. And chances are high we might not notice the stone avalanche in the darkness..."

Merlin nodded. Their journey was not intended to be a one-way trip, and the horses were their priority. _Once I enter the Perilous Lands, Kilgharrah won't be able to come to my rescue... The horses must sleep well after the days' ride. And we don't have much food for them..._

The concern about food for horses sprung from wherever Merlin could lay his eyes. Little forage was there in the dark-grey waste surrounding them, and less water. Not only was the northern part of Andor desolate, it was a sere land, with windswept silent hills that looked like the watchtowers of the evil force behind the land's decay. So barren was it that the dried riverbeds which used to surprise Merlin at the start became expected by the end of the day. _This looks like a road to nowhere._

"I've been to happier places, that's all I can say," Lancelot's humor seemed as dark as the land surrounding them. "Not even the moon shines over it. And the fire... Damn it, there is no firewood and..."

"I can start a fire without firewood," Merlin said, happy to be of help. "Let me just..."

Lancelot stretched out his arm and soon his hand was resting on Merin's shoulder, while the other hand was by Merlin's lips, inviting him to shut up and be silent for some time. Merlin pricked his ears; Lancelot was standing still, afraid to produce any sound, even the undetectable noise of stones crisping under his feet. So they stood, for some time, trying to listen to something in the dark that was falling on the wasteland.

"You think you heard something?" Merlin asked nervously.

"I thought so," Lancelot whispered. "But that's just our horses drinking water. Don't you think we'll be easily noticed if we start the fire?"

Merlin looked around. There was a small hill by the lake, and another one to the right, and another one behind him, and many more on their way... _Goddess only knows what may or may not linger on top of those hills... Bloody hell, why can't a Fisher King reside in Gedref? Why does it have to be such a lonely and dreadful piece of land?_

"I can use a barrier spell," Merlin suggested.

"A what?"

"A spell that creates a shield around us for some time. An invisible barrier which no mortal can penetrate."

"And what about... immortals?" Lancelot inquired, his hand still on Merlin's shoulder.

"Best not think about it," Merlin responded in a hiccupy voice.

That night, Merlin kept staring in the flames of the fire he had conjured for a long time, too nervous to fall asleep in a gorge between two stony hills. He was thinking about the story of Branwen and Boodikha from the legend Kilgharrah had told. _Kilgharrah said the Fisher King wished to marry Boodikha, but he begged her to keep the secret of her origins. He said the druids and the dragonlords were the enemies of the Isle of The Blessed. Long ran their feud, as early as the dawn of time of men. Long had the druids forgotten the tales of the days when the tribe of men was one..._

_Was there ever a time when the Isle of the Blessed and the dragonlords lived in peace? Why did they become enemies? What did he mean when he said that the tribe of men was one? How did the Isle of the Blessed was born? I need to talk to Kilgharrah about that. If I knew the reason of this feud, maybe I would be able to make peace with Morgause... And Morgana... But that's not realistic. Morgause knows I tried to kill her sister... She will never forgive me for that, no matter how hard I try to persuade her that our goals do not lie far apart. We may share common goals, but will we share common means to achieve them?_

***

The third day was the hardest of them all. After a sulky morning that threatened with rain and a modest breakfast Merlin regretted taking Lancelot with him. Gwaine had been a more talkative, a more cheerful and far more optimistic companion than Lancelot. Lancelot seemed a knight and a warrior, a man who was seasoned to regard the world as a collection of threats that could erupt from any direction. The fact that the threats around them were hard to identify irritated Lancelot, who looked as though he expected every stone hill to turn into another griffin and attack them.

"Do you think this Fisher King will be happy to see you?" Lancelot asked, mounting his horse after a quick breakfast.

_I don't even know if he exists._

"Happy is too big a say," Merlin produced a fake smile. "Relieved, maybe? This stone on my chest is said to be able to help his crippled land..."

And help she needed. As their ride went on, concerns for the well-being of the horses multiplied, for there was literally nothing for their mounts to subsist on. By midday, the sky had begun to act weirdly, and when dead trees appeared by the bases of rocks, the skies turned orange, as though bathed in the hot sun of the summer evening, except for the sun was nowhere to be seen.

"Magic," Lancelot whispered. "Right?"

Merlin produced a weak nod. Magic it must have been, but this was not the magic he had ever come across. The air was soaked with the cry of grief, and Merlin could feel the great disaster frozen in the stagnant and shallow silence of the deserted land. It was the wound, the terrible echo of pain lasting through the centuries, a presence of the dark gravity that was destroying the land.

The deeper they rode into the waste, the smaller the puddles became, and the distance between the sources of water kept growing, making them stop at each new pool to let the horses drink. Before long, the dark-grey trackless wilderness of stones and stony hills turned into a different sight, with sand and red clay replacing the fruitless soil. There was something cruel and utterly inhospitable about the place where no birds would roam the sky and no tree would grace the earth. The awful orange colour was blinding and seemed to produce some noise. To his horror, Merlin realized the orange flames in the sky had a lot in common with the color of sunstone on his chest.

By the evening of the third day, a mountain chain appeared on the horizon, and a path soon followed. It was a narrow and treacherous track climbing higher and higher into the mountains, although the incline was not very steep. Merlin's hand would instinctively reach for the Sidhe staff every time there appeared to be a suspicious noise behind his back. Lancelot was on the edge of his own nerves, too, for he felt that something was happening, judging by the venomous orange light flooding every inch of space around them.

When they reached the top of the low mountain, the magic played a different trick on them. The territory there was full of shimmering greenery encircling them on both sides, and Merlin saw a bridge - a dreadful construction that inspired little trust. Their horses stopped, as though by command, and suddenly, a short man emerged from the greenery. He was smiling for some reason, giving Merlin a look of a proud and noble host meeting a late guest for a dinner.

"Who is it that wishes to cross my bridge?" the man asked in a tone that would seem funny. "Who is to enter the Perilous Land?"

"A warlock on a quest to meet his majesty the Fisher King," Merlin replied, dismounting and tip-toeing on the edge of his defensive instincts. "And his friend."

The man smiled and stepped closer to Merlin to shake his hand. Lancelot looked as though he was ready to cut the stranger, but trusted Merlin instincts more.

"I'm Grettir. And you must be Magic. I have to say, you don't look as strong as we thought you'd be... And you," he said, turning to Lancelot. "You must be Spirit..."

"I think I'm rather alive," Lancelot cleared his throat.

"Wrongly you understand what Spirit means, young man. True self it is, true and capable of surviving death. But matters it not now. Pass you need, and before I let you pass, I'll give you a little advice," he was beaming as he was speaking - in point of fact, Merlin thought Gettir looked so happy because they were the first people he had spoken to in many years, if not centuries. "As Magic, there are two more things you'll need to complete your quest: Spirit and Courage. Spirit is here, but where is Courage?"

"Courage?" Merlin mumbled. "I am..."

"Oh, speak not, young warlock, speak not. For there is always more than meets the eye, and we, the creatures of magic, can see the true nature of things... In your heart is Courage, that's where Courage is... Bonded you are, like day and night, like land and sea, like fire and water," Gettir's eyes were gleaming in a fever. "Strange... But not new. This land has known one song of firewater... Hope we shall yours will be different..."

_Courage in my heart? Song of firewater? Can't these creatures of magic talk properly?_

"Remember, the rules in the land that you are heading to are quite different to those in the world that you know. There is more than meets the eye!"

Merlin and Lancelot exchanged looks, and when Merlin turned back to Gettir, the short man was nowhere to be spotted.

"Where did he go?!" Lancelot shouted. "He vanished! D'you see that?!"

"I didn't," Merlin said, looking at the bridge hanging above the mountain abyss. "But he's the creature of magic, that's expected. Don't be afraid, he would've harmed us if he wanted to..."

"I think we best leave the horses here," Lancelot suggested. "Perilous Land is named perilous for a reason... They may not survive the journey..."

_The question is, will we survive it?_

***

They chose to camp beside the bridge and agreed that it would be better to cross the bridge in the morning - although morning was hard to sense in the world where orange shining would reign day and night. Despite all the nervousness, Merlin fell asleep easily, suffering the consequences of the poor sleep of the previous night.

In the morning - or maybe it was evening or night, Merlin threw the traveling cloak off himself and grabbed the Sidhe staff. His stomach was aching, his back was strained, but he knew his future was hanging as fragile as the bridge above the mountain abyss.

"You're ready?" Lancelot asked, checking his sword.

"I am."

_But what for?_

Having crossed the bridge, Merlin and Lancelot followed the path that was descending the low mountains. When they were at the peak, they paused for the view of the Perilous Lands, a terrain of swamps, uprooted withered trees and red clay without a single trace of life. The place looked surreal beneath the orange-colored sky, and related to the life-filled forests of Andor the way a statue would compare to a living body.

Far away, a high building was towering in the wasteland, a black canine tooth pointing at the sky.

"This is the place," Merlin said, feeling the center of the wicked gravity that had seized the land. "Something's there."

"Something?" Lancelot asked fearfully. "Or somebody?"

"Some magic, some source of it," Merlin leaned on his staff and invited Lancelot to start walking. "Can't tell if it's alive or some object..."

Something weird was happening to sunstone as Merlin and Lancelot kept walking the dusty clay road that was descending the mountains and slithering between the slopes and the hills. The stone was booming and trembling, the chain was clanging and if felt as though the stone was pulling Merlin in the direction of the black tower.

"You're fine?" Lancelot asked, wary of the uneasy expression on Merlin's face.

Merlin opened his mouth and heard a terrible shriek pierce the air. He covered his mouth with his hand, afraid that it was he who was crying, but it was not.

"The bloody hell was it?" Lancelot asked, feeling horrified since he was defenseless without a sword.

"Somebody who doesn't love guests," Merlin replied, coming closer to Lancelot, his grip on the Sidhe staff strengthening.

They were standing close together, their backs touching, two lonely figures in the desert of red sand and clay, when Lancelot pointed at the sky.

"Look!" he shouted hysterically. "Dragons!"

The black wings were evil omens in the orange sky, as though the shadows of death descending upon them. Before long, Merlin realized those were no dragons: they were different creatures, smaller, with shorted wings and leaner drier bodies, with nearly nothing save for the bones and skin. They were many, though, too many to count, and small as they were, they still had claws, long and sharp, claws dangerous enough to tear their throats.

"Merlin, don't be standing, do something else they'll tear us apart!" Lancelot shouted. "Come on!"

Merlin felt immense power flowing through him with the help of the Sidhe staff, and he was ready to unleash the rain of thunderous fury at the creatures, but suddenly, the words of Gettir echoed in his mind. _There is more than meets the eye._ And then he heard Kilgharrah's voice, as though the dragon was speaking to him right now _. All the great dragons inhabiting The Dragon Tower turned into Wyverns and could no longer talk._ Merlin weakened his grip on the staff _. They used to be dragons one day. They have been mutilated by the curse that befell this land. But they may still answer to the dragonlord. He drew a deep breath and shouted:_

"Μην βλάψετε εμένα και το φίλο μου. Είμαι ο δάσκαλός σας και θα μου χορηγήσετε ασφαλές πέρασμα!"

The flock of deadly wings kept flapping in the air, but the wyverns were no longer descending upon them.

"They are gone!" Lancelot shouted triumphantly. " Merlin, you're a real..."

His words melted in the deafening silence that attacked Merlin'e ears. Something was happening to him, something wrong: the staff fell out of his hand and he lost balance and the last thing he saw was the whirlwind of clay dust and Lancelot's frightened face in the orange light.

***

Arthur was slapping him on the cheeks, with an arrogant grin on his face. Merlin shook his head and tried to stop Arthur and tell what sort of prat the prince was, only to realize there was no Arthur: it was Lancelot slapping him and spraying the precious water from the waterskin all over his face.

"..celot?" Merlin blurted out, his eyes unaccustomed to the sudden darkness around them.

"You have left me breathless, Merlin," Lancelot's tone suggested he was suffering from great fright. "Don't ever do this to me again!"

"Lance, where are we?"

"In the tower," Lancelot whispered as he kept caressing Merlin's hair. "Merlin, what is happening? You need help?"

"It's the sunstone," Merlin complained, feeling the stone sting his chest. "Its magic... It's like... It knows I'm going to get rid of it and... It protests..."

"Then why not to take it off?"

"I can't!" Merlin nearly screamed. "If I just take it off, Arthur may die. I need somebody to wear it... Somebody who is ready to die..."

"Fisher King," Lancelot nodded. "But where is he? This place looks like it has been uninhabited for hundreds of years."

Merlin looked around: it was a hall with crumbling bricks, ruined columns and dusty floor. There were spiders on the walls, and other insects that would usually make him jump from disgust, had the matters not been much more pressing.

"Will you help me get up, please?" Merlin pleaded, and smiled at Lancelot when the knight suddenly pulled him into his arms and carried him. "What you're doing?"

"You're too weak to walk, don't deceive yourself, Merlin. I'll carry you. You're as light as a leaf, by the way," he said, smiling.

Merlin blushed as he recalled being lifted in the air by Arthur in Ealdor, when he was touching the tip of the prince’s nose and letting his index finger open the prince’s mouth. Arthur licked it slowly before swallowing it, and then his mother caught them, and Arthur nearly bit Merlin's finger off.

"Thanks," Merlin said mildly. "I really appreciate your help. You're a good friend."

"Merlin, I appreciate your gratefulness, but please, can the courtesies wait for the time when we get out of this land?" Lancelot asked warily as he began to climb the winding stair.

"Look at this. Looks like a throne room," even Merlin's hands were too weak to point at the doorway.

Lancelot took a step inside the room that indeed looked broad enough to be a throne room, but suddenly, the stone beneath him depressed and he had to push Merlin into the room to prevent him from being squashed by the trap door that fell with a terrifying force. Merlin fell on the floor and rolled away, watching the trap door separate him from Lancelot.

"Merlin?! Merlin?! You alright?!" Lancelot's voice was thudding into a thick wall.

Merlin looked at the room where a golden chair stood beside the window; everything was covered with layers of thick and disgusting cobwebs that reminded Merlin of the evening when he saved Arthur for the first time, the evening when Lady Helen's song sent the court members nodding off to sleep and cobwebs started forming over the enchanted sleepers. And when the witch raised herself up enough to throw the dagger at Arthur... Merlin remembered the flash of unknown feeling that urged him to slow down time to reach Arthur and pull him out of harm's way.

"So, Emrys, you are here at last," a tired and feeble voice rose from behind the golden throne.

Merlin forced himself to stand up and to step around to the front of the throne where the Fisher King sat, covered in cobwebs, too. He was a terrible sight, a spirit that had long outlived the body that was nothing but decaying flesh, dry and powerless. His narrow face was oval, and his deep-set eyes were dark and gleaming, and Merlin bowed his head, for the Fisher King still was wearing a cobweb dressed crown.

"Your majesty. You're still alive."

"For now," the Fisher King nodded.

Something hit the trap door from behind. Merlin knew Lancelot was trying to get past that obstacle.

"Your friend," the king smiled. "Spirit. And Courage is with you, too, though in your heart. I know that without their help, you would not be here."

_Without Arthur, I would not be anywhere._

"What quest brings you to my kingdom, Emrys?" the king inquired with the brightest hint of hope in his voice. "What is it you want?"

"I want to put an end to your suffering, your grace. To free your land from the dark curse that was cast upon it."

"You want me to die," the king put on a smile. "This is something I have been waiting all these years. I expected the arrival of a new time, the time of the Once and Future King, but you bring so much more..."

"I've heard these words before," Merlin said. "The once and future king…"

"And you will hear them again. For that time is dawning, and my time finally can come to an end. This is why you were brought here. For this is not just quest to save Arthur's life, it is your quest, where the real prize is something far greater than your prince."

_What can be greater than Arthur?_

"Water from the Lake of Avalon," the fisher king said, taking a small bottle from behind his cloak. "Water from the days before the gates of Avalon were sealed. I've kept it safe these years, waiting for the right person to claim it. And that is you. You are the one chosen."

"What are you talking about?"

"Albion's time of need is near. And in that dark hour you must be strong, for you alone can save her. You are the last dragonlord, and the throne of Albion is yours by ancient rights. Your powers are great, but you will need help. And that is what I'm giving you."

Merlin accepted the gift humbly and bowed his head again.

"When all seems lost, this will show you the way," the king said mystifyingly.

"Thank you."

"I have given you a gift. Now you must give me one in return."

Merlin dropped to one knee and let the Fisher King hold out his arm and place his hand on Merlin's head. The chain trembled and flew up Merlin's neck, up his head and up the Fisher King's hand and arm without ever leaving someone's body. The stone glowed and before long the Fisher King was whisked away.

Merlin rose to his feet: he could feel the strengths refilling his body with every breath he took, and every move he made. The trap door produced a weird sound and moved up, letting Lancelot break into the throne room. He walked forward and slapped Merlin on the arm while looking around before giving Merlin a hug.

“What happened here?” he asked, puzzled by Merlin’s overly happy face in an empty room. “I heard voices!’

Merlin felt magic tickling every muscle of his body as the joy of liberty from the sunstone magic engulfing all his senses. He had never felt more alive. The orange light across the windows was beginning to melt away and the sky was clearing.

“Merlin! Say something!”

“I am free,” Merlin was jumping from joy. “I will live, live!”

 _And I will see Arthur soon,_ Merlin thought, jubilant. _I love you, dollophead, oh, how I love you!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am honestly shocked to observe that the total word count for The Great Design + The Guiding Star has exceeded 250,000 words. It's such a joy to see this little fic grow and develop, and I can't wait for the upcoming chapters! 
> 
> From this chapter on, we shall travel back in time a little (just 8 days back) and learn the adventures of Arthur on his way to Nemeton and Nemeth. Arthur POV debuts on the weekend! 
> 
> Thank you for following! <3


	38. On the Road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Merlin part in Ealdor as the prince begins his quest for reclaiming his throne.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

#  VOLUME III

# PRINCE AT HEART

 

"I can forgive everything save treason."

Vladimir Nabokov, Pale Fire

 

Arthur hated the heat, for it seemed the sun was baking the air to make it stiff and prevent him from traveling. Everything, from the emerald carpet of grass to the dusty worn-out walls of the neighboring houses was shimmering behind the thick veil of summer hotness. _Too much heat._

Merlin was inside, probably helping Hunith to stuff their supplies with the provision that would last until the end of the world. _I really ought to grant Hunith a castle if I win my throne back. She's done so much. Can't blame her for not being too fond of me, right? Her son could've died so many times because of me._

Owaine and Modron were taking care of the horses, while Arthur was meant to relax, drowning in the shadow of the ash tree. He tried to keep his eyes closed as he was seeking the calm that would make him stronger.

 _Think with your head_ , his father's words flooded his mind. _This is what you have a head for. To think and not to just wear a helmet or a crown._ Arthur knew that few men would believe such words could pass Uther's lips - his father, after all, seemed to rely on nothing save for passion in his stance against magic. But few people understood him the way Arthur did. _And there is nobody left to understand now._

Arthur's sigh mingled with the rustle of the wind in the rich greenery of ash tree. His father hated magic, hated it with all his heart, but upon that hatred, the late king's actions were constructed in schemes of cold precision and dull calculation. _Destroy everything related to magic. Reward everybody loyal to you in the fight against magic, but feel free to dispatch of them at the faintest suspicion of their betrayal. Think with your head, and don't let your heart play any part in forging your decisions. Once they learn you listen to your heart, your heart will become vulnerable._

Arthur sighed again. _How can I ignore my heart with this little sneaky thing in my arms? Merlin has a gift of silencing my mind. I can't think when he's with me, I just can't. Yet in his presence I feel like I know all the truth I need. Despite the fact he'd been lying to me for such long a time. Oh, bloody hell, why do all the contradicting things coexist peacefully in his smile?_

A tower emerged, shielding him from the sunlight. Arthur opened his eyes lazily. Gwaine was standing tall, chewing some apple. _At least he's sober._

"You called for me, prince Dragonslayer?" he asked.

"Stop calling me that," Arthur was slow to rise to his feet. He didn't blame himself for being too slow. _The effects of the assassinations would take some time to heal, Merlin said._

"How should I call you then?"

"Somewhat less formal. Your grace would suffice," Arthur japed and invited Gwaine to walk around Hunith's garden. "I need to ask you to do something for me."

"Have you asked the right person?" Gwaine threw the apple away, trying to hit the fence, but it missed a few inches.

"You will be the one traveling with Merlin."

"Oh... That..." Gwaine's smile was too cheeky. _I don't like him for Merlin's companion. He's too carefree. And drinks too much._

"What do you mean? What _that_?" Arthur spoke as formally as though Gwaine was a member of his father's court.

"Listen, fella... I mean, your dragonslaying grace. You and Merlin. I get it. You are in love and you wanted to warn me not to mess things up and..."

"I... I wasn't! How?!" Arthur's cheeks were red and hotter than the sun. "How do you?!"

"What? How do I know?" Gwaine's laugh made his shoulders rise and fall. "How can't I know? How can anybody be blind enough to not see it?"

Arthur swallowed nervously. He didn't mean it to be discovered so abruptly and suddenly. He wanted to tell them all in due time. _Will my plans ever work?_

"I...we...It has nothing to do with our..."

"Listen, fella, if you wanted to speak privily, you better say your say quicker. They are about to finish packing up and..."

"Gwaine, keep your eye on him, please. You are responsible for his safety. Don't let any harm come to Merlin and I promise, my reward will be generous. Just... Please, try to keep him safe when it's possible. He has a... you know... He looks thin and lean and somewhat a little weak, but it's deceitful... Beneath this outward impression, he has the bravest heart, and like all brave hearts, he can be tempted by great follies. Please, will you?"

"You've completely lost your mind because of him, haven't ya?" Gwaine smiled and petted Arthur on the back.

Merlin stormed out of the house a little later, accompanied by Hunith. Modron and Owaine were waiting for them on the road. Arthur's intense gaze followed Merln's every move. People had often called his servant clumsy, but now that Merlin was his, Arthur came to recognize some natural grace about the way Merlin would move, some agility, some beauty that was destined solely for Arthur to behold.

"What?" Merlin asked with a frown as he approached Arthur. "What are you staring at?"

Gwaine snorted.

Arthur spent half his strengths to prevent his finger from touching Merlin's lips. _His eyelashes. Boys rarely have their eyelashes so long and so beautiful._

The moment to part caught him unawares, even though they'd spent a great deal of time preparing for departure. Now that they were standing on the dusty village road, Artur felt that reconquering his kingdom was half as hard as letting go of Merlin. He was afraid of letting their eyes meet.

"Don't you dare," Arthur said when he spotted tears in Merlin's eyes. He put his hand on Merlin's shoulder, feeling that he was about to explode from the desire to grab Merlin and make Merlin's lips weak from desire and obedient, and Merlin's mouth - welcome for his tongue. "You’ve promised not to cry. And I’ve told you once, and I repeat: no man is worth your…”

"You are worth every teardrop," Merlin’s voice was but a struggle of tears.

Arthur smiled weakly, remembering the day when Merlin was putting on an armor to fight a dragon with him. _I know it's hard for you to understand how I feel, but...well, I care a hell of a lot about that armour, I'm not going to let you mess it up,_ Merlin said by the door. Arthur's smile grew wider. _He's always been funny. And silly. But back then... I realized he meant it. When he said it was hard for me to understand how he felt. I understood everything._

“Owaine, Modron,” Merlin said in a tone where command and plea were mixed. “You’ve sworn to protect him. See that he gets to the castle of Nemeton safe.”

“Don’t worry, juggler-boy,” Arthur heard Modron’s voice. “The prince is our care now.”

“And he shall remain so," Owaine stepped closer to Merlin and petted him on the shoulder. _Owaine's always been nice to him. Maybe too nice._ "Don’t be sad, we’ll see you in the castle of Gedref in two weeks. I shall throw a feast in your honor, I promise. It’s not often that sorcerers save the heir of Gedref in the patrols. I haven’t forgotten that. Goodbye, Merlin.”

_Throw a feast? Bloody hell, where do they think we're heading to? Vacation? Feasts? These green boys, I swear... For all we know, the castle of Gedref might suffer the siege in less than two weeks._

To Arthur's surprise Modron, whose curly black hair were glistening in the sun, grabbed Merlin for a clumsy and impulsively strong handshake.

“Goodbye, trick-boy. Come back with all your weapons. Can’t way to see you fly.”

Now it was his turn to say goodbye, and much as he wanted this moment to never come, he knew the road awaited him. He seized Merlin and lifted him in the air, biting his lip from the desire to lay a single kiss on Merlin's cheek that smelled with chamomile. Instead, he pressed his lips to Merlin's ear to whisper:

“This is not a farewell. This is a goodbye for some time. Remember what I told you in the Western Tower, and you’ll easily find your way to Gedref, if you really can fly. My magic star. Now go, don’t stand here wasting your time. And Merlin, you’ve sworn an oath. You must come back to me.”

“I love you,” Merlin whispered back, and Arthur knew Merlin was crying.

Arthur mounted his stallion and off he rode, afraid to look back, afraid to spot Merlin - slammed by the hard feeling of their temporary parting. He was on the road, without Merlin, yet Arthur, for some unexplainable reason was sure that the road would have to end where it started – by Merlin’s side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for following! 
> 
> Arthur's chapters kick in and will take over the fic for the next two weeks, I think. Then we shall be back to the events in the castle of Camelot and learn Merlin's whereabouts! 
> 
> Next chapter on Wednesday, March 28 <3


	39. Kingship

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur, Owaine and Modron travel south, heading to the castle of Nemeton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

 

"We shall let the horses rest soon," Owaine proposed, helpless to shield his face from the gusts of wind.

"No. We shall be riding until darkness falls," Modron protested. "If we keep stopping so often, we won't make it to Nemeton even in five days."

"We will be in Nemeton in less than three days even if we try and make the ride less demanding for the horses."

"What do you know about the horses? You've grown up in Camelot. I was raised in Nemeton, I was three when they took me hunting for the first time and I know what the horses are capable of! They can endure..."

"Will both of you please remain silent for some time?" Arthur's irritation overwhelmed his tone. "It's been hours and riding with you feels as though I'm trying to keep a cat and a dog in the same bag."

Having said that, Arthur did what he'd always do - lead. He kicked his horse and pulled the bridles, racing forward and inviting the young lads to follow him. _I shall decide when we shall stop. They can argue all they want._

It was another piece of advice he remembered from the days spent with his father. Uther was dead, yet Arthur couldn't feel, couldn't wrap his mind around the ugly thought that his father had been murdered in his own castle. _Poisoned. These cowards didn't have the courage to challenge him openly. My father would have never denied a single combat. They will answer, not to me, but to the ancient laws of our land._

Uther was dead, yet his wisdom remained with Arthur. The prince felt there was a special treasure vault in his mind where Uther now resided, available any time. _What am I to do, father? Lead,_ Uther's voice answered _. Lead your men. That's the best a king can do. Show them what you are with deeds, not words._

 _But who am I to lead, and where to?_ Arthur's mind seemed to get more clouded the farther he kept riding and the farther he was getting from Merlin. Merlin was one of the few things he didn't wish to bring into the treasure vault of Uther's wisdoms and counsel in his mind. _He'd not understand. Nobody would understand. How can anybody understand if I don't understand it either?_

Understanding wasn't something he required from Merlin. It was Merlin’s heat, his love and his obedience that meant everything to him, and something more. But what? Arthur felt he could spend hours thinking of it, trying to decipher the element that made Merlin so desirable.

It was not magic. He had felt strong attachment to his servant long before he learnt of Merlin's _additional_ skills and talents. There was something uncompromising about Merlin's ways, his ability to make Arthur rethink the concept of allegiance, fealty and obedience. Growing up as the only heir to the Camelot's throne implied that expecting people to appreciate you and demonstrate the signs of obedience was something natural. Merlin made him feel as though Arthur had to _earn_ his appreciation. The fact that it didn't seem to matter to a simple village boy that Arthur was of royal blood was intriguing, to say the least.

_Nobody would've dared to invite me to share a bed in some forsaken inn. Nobody would be brave and wild enough to climb me and throw such a kiss at me. No girl or boy would be risky enough to offer herself or himself to me in a nearly ruined tower. And I doubt anybody would be whispering filthy proposals into my ear at the royal feast. Except for Merlin. He does it all, and the way he loses all dignity in bed... Goddess, I remember he asked me to buy him a drink at our first feast._

The thoughts about Merlin losing dignity between their bedsheets were awfully ill-timed. _Goddess, how am I supposed to last without him for two weeks? We would have had so many things to do..._

The road, trailing as it was, kept running south to offer the views that were breaking Arthur's heart. The land close to the border of Essetir and Camelot was beautiful and rich, but terribly neglected as well. The fields that could bear so much harvest were nothing but a stretch of brown weedy land, with grass often waist-high and leaves carried away from the nearby forests were carpeting the road, flurrying and flying as three horses were galloping south.

Arthur knew that a lot of people blamed Camelot for this territory's decline. _Father hated these talks at court. He always liked to say that Cenred was a rogue who let Essetir's wealth slip through his fingers._ Arthur was among the few who could understand Uther's matchless hatred for Cenred. There had been too many people who loved to point at their similarities. Uther never inherited Camelot - he won with blades and blood. Cenred, too, was never an heir to the Essetir throne - it was his uncle Quichelm who had ruled before Cenred.

King Quichelm of Essetir spent most of his reign trying to solve a strategic objective for his kingdom: he wished for Essetir to gain access to the sea. Quichelm believed that so long as Essetir remained landlocked, the kingdom would be more vulnerable. To make Essetir a sea-state, Quichelm fought a bloody war with Mercia that didn't end well - all the efforts of Essetir to gain access to the Wide Bay had been thwarted by King Bayard. Quichelm's eye than turned to Tir Mor, where Londinium, the richest port in all Albion, was located.

After his Mercian fiasco Quichelm was wiser and instead of trying to waste his army on capturing Londinium, invaded Kent, looking to seize a piece of land through which Nemeth's road to Londinium lay and make Nemeth's trade with Londinium a subject of Essetir's taxes. King Rodor of Nemeth had not been prepared for that, and his attempts to protect the trade road to Londinium were failing. That was the point where Uther Pendragon believed that Camelot's interference was inevitable.

Uther reckoned that if King Rodor were deprived of a trade road to Londinium, Nemeth's crown would press demands on the disputed lands between Nemeth and the lands that used to be a part of the Seaside Kingdom before Uther married Ygraine. With the castle of Camelot too far away from Gedref and Gwynedd war looming on the horizon, Uther had decided that it was best to secure peace for his southern territories. Uther and Rodor signed a pact where Rodor agreed not to press any claims on Camelot's southern lands for the next twenty years, and where Uther promised to set Gedref's trade duties twice higher than in Nemeth and to invade Essetir to make King Quichelm abandon his plans to seize the trade road between Nemeth and Londinium.

_I was four years old when father rode to war with Essetir. Was it a war, though? All Quichelm's attention had been drawn to his war in Kent. He never expected my father to interfere into Essetir-Nemeth war, the same way Uther never interfered into Essetir-Mercia war. But he was wrong. King Bayard of Mercia was a sworn enemy of Camelot, and father would have never supported Mercian side in any war. Nemeth was a different deal. Father saw advantages to be gained in his pact with Rodor, and he stroke Essetir once the pact was signed. That's how Ascetir joined Camelot, when House Meirchion and House Blanchefleur surrendered to Camelot forces, and that's how Quichelm realized his plans to gain access to the sea would never come to life._

Quichelm was childless, and it was agreed in the treaty that he would pass the crown to his brother Quentwine. _However, Cenred disagreed._ Quichelm was no more than Cenred's uncle by marriage, and Cenred had no rights for the throne before Quichelm's countless brothers and nephews. Yet much like Uther, Cenred didn't need any rights. He gained his throne with blades and blood, the way Uther conquered Camelot. And unlike Uther, Cenred never relied on the help of a high priestess during his war for the crown.

 _Father kept repeating that his conquest never hurt his kin._ In the Mountain Land, Uther was of royal blood, a grandson of King Edren of House Gaheris, but he couldn't hope to ever sit the throne since King Edren had a son Ulwich, whose wife princess Vyda had given him two heirs by the time Uther started the conquest. Uther joined forces with the sons of all the major lords in the Mountain Land for his campaign, much to King Edren's dismay. Vyda was among those at court who were begging Ulwich to bring King Edren Uther's head. Ulwich refused, saying that Uther was the son of his sister and that he would not spill the blood of his kin.

Vyda’s demands to behead Uther didn't ruin Uther's attitude towards her later: when he became the king of all the Five Kingdoms, he granted her the title of Lady of Daobeth and invited her to reside at court - which she refused. Still, she was never harmed, and neither were any other noble lord and ladies of Mountain Land who disapproved of Uther's military campaign before the Battle of Ashes. Cenred, on the contrary, killed most of his uncles and cousins.

The drifting clouds were turning red as sunset was about to stalk the land, and the sun was as low as it could be without touching the horizon. Arthur slowed his horse down.

"We shall spend the night here," Arthur said, pointing at two elms by the gentle slope of the meadow-crowned hill.

"Here? Would that be wise, your majesty?" Modron inquired with the courtesy Arthur still couldn't get accustomed to. "Encerd is less than an hour ride away. It has an inn."

"I don't think inn's a safe place for us. Cenred may disregard this part of his kingdom, but chances are we will come across some sort of guards in Encerd. People may start asking questions about our horses and our swords, and our bags stuffed with food. Here, we have little chances of meeting anybody until dawn."

Dinner was the most pleasant part about their ride so far, for it reminded them all of Hunith's hospitality and of the summer tranquility they had enjoyed for some time in Ealdor. They were lucky to spot a narrow stream where horses could be watered on the other slope of the hill, among the elm trees, and by evenfall, they had eaten and drunk, and would drift off to sleep. Arthur knew his exceptional tiredness wasn't his own - it was the consequence of what had happened to him in the Brechfa forest. Yet for some reason, he still felt as though he was getting better and better with every new hour to pass

"Tell me as my only councilors," he asked hesitantly. "What is..."

"Councilors?" Modron snorted. "What is Owaine a councilor of? Of stinky socks?"

"My socks are fine!" Owaine, who had taken off his boots, said, too lazy to even lift his head.

"Define fine. It smells as if something died in your boots."

"One more word, and it will be you who'll meet his doom in my boots."

Arthur closed his eyes and hoped they didn't spot his smile. _They are so young. Boys they are, yet brave to follow me when most of adults would have turned their back on me already. But is it bravery or stupidity?_

"Assume you're admitted to my council, however dreadful your socks smell," Arthur said. "I am now traveling to your homes to disturb their peace and to ask them to rise for me in the name of me and my father. You're both heirs to the lordship of your castles. What would you have me say or do when I arrive? What am I to keep in mind?"

"Nemeth," Modron replied at once, so nervous he switched to seated position. They had decided not to light the fire, and his black hair seemed deceitfully longer in the dark. "Forget the name of Nemeth while you are in Nemeton. We remember the Traitor's War too well. All the folk of Nemeton. My grandfather died in one of the battles of the Traitor's War. Your majesty, if you let people of Nemeton know you're traveling to Nemeth to ask for King Rodor's support... They'd be more likely to spit on your face rather than rise in your name."

 _At least he's honest. But I need Rodor to verify my identity with his seal. Bloody hell._ Owaine let out a sigh full of confusion.

"Modron's right, your majesty. We in Gedref don't hold much anger against Nemeth, but even..."

"That's because it was Nemeton where Rodor directed all his strength at!"

"...but even we have not forgotten, let alone forgiven the Traitor’s War to King Rodor," Owaine tried to out-roar Modron. "It was fought back in the days of the Seaside Kingdom. Rodor attacked us shortly after the death of King Andor, thinking Queen Andor would not come to Seaside Kingdom's rescue..."

Arthur knew the end of the story. Queen Andor indeed didn't want to take part in the war of Seaside Kingdom and Nemeth, but when King Gedref died and his son Reginald became the sovereign of Seaside Kingdom, prince Darian of Camelot brought his dragon south and threatened to put entire cities of Nemeth to fire unless King Rodor signed peace treaty with Seaside Kingdom.

"I know that, thank you, both of you," Arthur resumed. "But that's politics. How about other things?"

"What other things?" Owaine's voice reflected the emptiness that seized his mind.

"Well, other things a king can do. If I ask people of Nemeton and Gedref to rise for me, I must promise something to them. Something a king can do."

"Gedref's development has long been restrained by an old treaty with Rodor. If trade duties in Gedref were as low as across the Merchant's Bay, Portstown would blossom and bathe in wealth," Owaine said after some time of meditation. "As for Nemeton..."

"Taxes," Modron put it sudden and simple. "Our territory is very far away from the castle of Camelot. And there are mountains of Isgaard on the way. These wagons piled with gold, they are the most tiresome thing for father. He is as nervous as a maiden girl that's to be bedded for the first time every time he collects the taxes and sends them to Camelot. There's a whole army escorting them. And another army accepting money from Camelot's Treasury in spring. Something can be done about it, right?"

 _Taxes. Lord Blanchefleur would've been of use. He served to my father for years. Would be curious to know who is Ryence's Royal Treasurer._ Before Arthur could produce a sound, his ear jerked nervously at the sound he would recognize anywhere in the woods. The baying of hounds. Hounds that are frustrated and upset and angry. Modron and Owaine jumped to their feet.

"Grab your swords," Arthur commanded, praying his strength were enough to let him not just hold his steel, but also put on a decent fight if need be. "But not a sound, any of you."

Modron and Owaine did as they were told, and grouped behind Arthur. It was one of the darkest hours of the night, between the sunset and the moonrise, and Arthur regretted his own decision not to light the fire. If these are archers... _Well, they won't be able to shoot in the darkness._

Something echoed through the grass in the field on the other side of the road. It wasn't wind, it was the unmistakable sound of somebody trying to make his way through the waist-high grass _. Or their way. There can be many of them_. Even in the sullen moonless black of the night Arthur could distinguish a mass of something racing their way through the field.

"Hold still and don't attack without my orders," Arthur whispered and he felt the vibration of Owaine and Modron's nods in the air. _If anything happens to me, Merlin won't even find out...._

The figure stormed out the weeds in the field, stumbled and fell on the road. The only thing Arthur could notice in the darkness was the she was rather short and long-haired. _A girl._ She kept rolling on the road, trying to stand up, which she couldn't do since she had her hands tied behind her back.

"I'll help her," Modron said and rushed to the rolling body. The hounds were barking louder. When the girl saw Modron, she began to sob and pressed herself into Modron's embrace.

"Help me, help me, please, I beg you. I did nothing to deserve this..."

Modron cut her bonds and helped her rise to her feet. _The hounds are coming. She looks innocent. Too small to be evil. Damn it!_

"Modron, quick, pour wine all over her and take her to the other side of the hill!"

"Wine?" Modron asked, confused.

"Yes, Modron, wine, so that the hounds lose her trace. Don't stand there waiting, do it, do it! Take her to the stream. If I deal with her chasers, I will find you there. Now do it, do it!"

Shortly after the wine-soaked girl had been taken away by Modron, the gems of fire appeared dancing above the grass. The hounds ran before the girl's persecutors, three snarling brown beasts that could've been mistaken for wolves had their color not been so different. Their fur was bristling, and teeth were bared. The persecutors approached warily. _Perhaps they, too, are fearing we will shoot arrows_. They were not armed heavily, with nothing save for chipped stone axes and torches in their hands. To Arthur's surprise, the group consisted of seven women.

"I mean no harm!" Arthur shouted from afar. "You dogs scared us!"

The women encircled them, and the swaying fires’ reflections were strewn across Arthur's and Owaine's blades. Arthur could barely tell the difference between the hunter's faces.

"The dogs would scare anybody," one of the women said. "Easy. Sit!"

One of the beasts obeyed the command of her master.

"What are you boys doing here at such late an hour?" the hunter's leader asked. "Aren't we disturbing your special... things?"  
Arthur felt his chest torn apart by the feeling of anger. _She dares mock me. Keep your head cool and think with it._

"We're on our way to Encerd. Want to sell a horse," Arthur replied, ignoring her suggestion. "I am Merlin. And this is my friend Gaius."

"Selling a horse? You're hours from Encred, did you know?"

"We know it too well. We just don't have money to pay to the innkeeper and we thought it would be best to spend a night in a place that's rarely crossed by other people."

The woman studied him carefully.

"You saw anything suspicious?"

"We did," Owaine said from behind Arthur's back. "Something sprang from the high grass. A boar or something. Although its steps were too light for a boar. Maybe a fox?"

"This was not a fox. This was a girl," the woman said, disappointed. "You saw where she ran?"

"Saw? We were sleeping," Arthur tried to reason. "All we did was hear. And I thought I was dreaming before the torches appeared."

"Sharpy, Sharpy, find!" the woman commanded to the beast and the hound started running around their camp. Arthur stood, the tension of the moment unbearable, and he thought his heartbeat was echoing in his ears when the hound barked and invited her masters to follow somewhere. _Modron_.

"You be careful, boys," the woman said. "There is a girl, and she is dangerous."

"How can a girl be dangerous?" Owaine asked with dismay.

"She's no just some girl. She has magic," the woman spat as though the word could be venomous.

"I thought magic was a common thing in our land?" Arthur asked innocently, watching the women follow their dogs.

"Depends on what sort of magic you're talking about!" the woman cried out, leaving them in the darkness.

They had to wait for the torches to melt away before they went to the stream at the other slope of the hill to check Modron. However, the dark-haired youth was nowhere to be seen.

"Modron!" Owaine whispered to the darkness. "Modron!"

Suddenly, something fell from the sky. In a moment, it moved and Arthur recognized Modron's shapes on the ground - the lad had jumped down from the tree.

"Modron! Where's the girl?!" Arthur inquired nervously.

"She's up there," he said, massaging his knee. "Listen, Arthur, we must not let them hurt her. She is a sweet thing. We must help her get down."

And help they did. To Arthur's and Owaine's surprise, she was completely naked.

"When we left, I helped her climb the tree and took the gown off her," Modron explained. "I ran for some time before I threw her gown into some ditch. It would help to lead the hounds the wrong way. Arthur, she has magic, just like Merlin. She is not evil."

"What's your name?" Arthur asked, perplexed that the girl was not even trying to cover her nakedness, keeping Owaine and Modron hypnotized.

"Lamia," she said in an unexpectedly strong voice. "My name is Lamia."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 40 "Moonstone" will be out on the weekend! Thank you for following <3 
> 
> Oh, I am counting days until Arthur and Merlin meet!


	40. Moonstone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur tries to rescue his young knights from the dark magic of Lamia.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

Lamia had a secret.

If there was one things Arthur was sure about, it was the assumption that there must have been a reason for female hunters to chase Lamia with hounds. _They thought she was dangerous because of some special magic she possessed, but what magic?_

Arthur didn't have a chance to learn it. After they had helped Lamia get down from the tree, they had to hurry back to their camp. The night was dark and full of hound's howling, and Arthur was afraid the torches could reappear any moment. There was no time to waste, and before long they had to mount the horses and to ride away into the darkness, hoping the stallions were seasoned enough to feel the path.

Encerd was close and the temptation to enter the village and find rooms in the inn was strong as well, but his doubts were stronger. _What if they are looking for the girl in the village? What if they will recognize her and imprison her and us? Three swordsmen will not be able to hold off dozen people with axes. Not for long._

The closer they were to the village, the more nervous Lamia behaved. She was in Modron's saddle, the dark-haired lad's arms were thrown around her protectively, and Arthur could hear Modron whisper words that were meant to soothe the poor creature. _He sounds as though he were in love. Is it the first time he's saving a girl from some danger? He must be feeling a true knight now._

To bypass Encerd, Arthur had to send his stallion into the weeded field, praying there were no sharp stones beneath the waist-high grass. Their horses neighed disapprovingly and lost half their speed, treading more carefully into the sea of grass. The hounds' howl was drifting in the night, but it was so distant it seemed it was the ghost's cry, something on the edge between reality and a fantasy of a scared wanderer.

By the time they had finished maneuvering around Encerd, the ruby cowbells of dawn were ringing in the eastern sky, and Arthur noticed Lamia put on a sad expression; the dance of morning light in her black eyes spoke of desperation and some remorse, but maybe Arthur mistook the shimmer of light for something else.

"Where is your home, little thing?" Arthur asked the girl, driving his horse closer to Modron. "Is there anybody to take care of you?"

The girl shifted uncomfortably in her saddles, trying to hide her eyes from Arthur. Modron caressed her hair and spoke gently:

"We have to take care of her now, Arthur. Look at her. She is indeed a little thing. So vulnerable. So tender. So unprotected. We let her roam in these lands alone, and I assure you, it will only be a matter of time before she falls prey to some new magic-hating hunters."

"The caves of Balor," Lamia whispered and closed her eyes. "My home's near the caves of Balor..."

"What? Caves of Balor?!" Arthur glanced at Owaine, whose look seemed no less confused than prince Arthur's.

Lamia responded no more. The girl must have lost her consciousness from a sleepless night, and Arthur could only assume how many days or nights she had been underfed by those who captured her. _Yet somehow she escaped._

"Modron, stop your horse," Arthur commanded.

Dawn was upon them, the gust of wildberry-red echoing all the way to the western edge of satin sky. They were still among the brown field of weeded grassland, but far to the right, Arthur could glimpse at the mountain peaks shrouded in mists. So distant they were that one could mistake them for edgy clouds had they been a shade whiter. _Mountains of Isgaard_ , Arthur thought. _We're so close, but we haven't slept for more than a day. And the horses are tired, too, and the road ahead would be tougher._ Arthur could see the fields turn to hills in the span of his sight. _Before long it will be the land of hills, rocks, streams and caves._

"Is she fine?" Owaine asked, nodding at Lamia who looked all but fine.

"She's tired. She needs sleep."

"Why sleep at dawn? That's weird."

"I'd see how you'd sleep if you were hunted like some animal," Modron's voice was steel. "We have to take her home. To the caves of Balor."

"Modron, there are no homes near the caves of Balor," Arthur warned him.

"Her home is there," Modron insisted. "You've heard it yourself. You've heard her say it."

"Modron, I've been there. I've seen everything with my own eyes. The caves of Balor is a place of nightmares. With giant spiders and Goddess only knows what. People have long abandoned this land, and even the hunters of Balor never go that deep in the woods."

"If you are afraid of escorting her to the caves of Balor because of some tales about spiders, I will do it myself!" now it was Modron who was warning him.

"Modron, you're speaking to your king!" Owaine's horse was feeling the sudden tension in the air, and was neighing, trying to throw off the bridles.

"What sort of king is he if he refuses to protect those who seek his help? If he denies help to a weak girl? Not a king I want to serve," Modron spat. "I will see her to the caves of Balor myself. You can follow me or go to hell. If you try to stop me, I will cut you both."

Arthur was struggling to recognize Modron's features. Something changed about the dark-haired youth; it was the gleam of his eyes that was not natural, not the one Arthur had grown accustomed to. It was the same gleam Arthur had spotted in Lamia's eyes when she saw the dawn. _Sorcery. Blimey, what if those women were right to warn us about her? What if she is dangerous?_

The gleam in Modron's eyes was growing as quick as the forest fire, threatening to engulf all the friendship and the union the young men had established and turn it into ashes. Modron's hand was sliding off to his belt, to where his sword hang, as though the lad intended to strike before Arthur could even think of touching the hilt of his own sword.

"Modron, nobody said about denying help to the poor girl. I just wanted to say... that we had our own agenda, right?"

"We're escorting the king to the castle of Nemeton. We can bring her with us, Modron, she will be a lot safer there, in the castle," Owaine added.

"We must bring her where she had told us, and we must do it by sunset," Modron was running out of patience. "The caves of Balor are on our way."

"They are not. We need to go to the forests of Balor..."

"Then go to your forests. I shall go on my own. Cowards!" Modron shouted at them, kicking his horse.

Owaine looked at Arthur, the fury of his eyes so strong it seemed he could take Modron off his horse with his look alone.

"What is wrong with him?!" Owaine pleaded for explanation. "He's riding away!"

"It's the girl," Arthur said confidently, free of any doubts. "It's her doing, I tell her. Owaine, those people must have had a reason to chase her with hounds. She's using magic to make Modron take her to the caves of Balor! Come on, we must follow him."

"I can disarm him, your majesty," Owaine proposed, breathless from excitement as their horses were sent to gallop after Modron.

"No. It's too dangerous and it's not worth the risk. We wait until he stops and we act. He has the needs, he can't hold his piss for long."

"No," Owaine said all of a sudden. "No, Arthur, I think you're wrong. It's treacherous of you to act in such a manner. Modron said the right thing. We must escort Lamia to the caves of Balor."

Horrified, Arthur realized it was the gleaming of Lamia staring at him from the depth of Owaine's eyes. _No! Not him! Now it's only me left. How much time before her magic gets me, too? What is this magic?_ Arthur shook his fears off and directed his horse into the whirlwind of dust raised by Owaine's and Modron's horses.

***

The day was long, yet Arthur was reluctant to do anything about his bewitched knights. They were bewitched, of that there could be no doubt. Owaine and Modron had been corrupted by magic that would make them open Arthur's throat if he dared to take Lamia away from them. The girl woke up soon and gave Arthur a hateful look, and Arthur saw her eyes shift in shape and turn to something _serpentine._

They kept riding south, but once Lamia had woken up, the journey lost half its speed. The fields were left behind, and the road was taking them into the hilly terrain covered with gnarled oaks and tall yews, with flowering bushes and greyish moss-licked stones and little creeks running down the steep hillsides. The mountains of Isgaard, separating the land of Isgaard and the land of Balor, were floating towards them.

Owaine and Modron didn't let a single words pass their lips, and it appeared they were completely disregarding Arthur's very existence. The horses would stop by the creeks from time to time, to enjoy the cool water and feast on the green grass, but Lamia remained ever watchful, as she was in Modron's arms.

"You let them go and I promise, no harm will come to you," Arthur told her, ready to unsheathe his sword if need be.

She glanced at him angrily, and her eyes gleamed green, and an ugly grin appeared on her face. There was something about Arthur that was infuriating her, yet she refused to order the lads to attack Arthur. _Why? Does she need them to get to the caves of Balor? Hardly ever. She may just seize Modron's horse and ride without him. Does she need Owaine and Modron at the caves of Balor? What for?_

Arthur shuddered in his saddle. He would gladly blame the shudders on the gusts of wind, but the wind was warm and full of summer heat. The memories of the caves of Balor were tying a knot in his stomach. He remembered the feverish ride south, after King Bayard had been imprisoned for a poisoned chalice. _I had nothing but Merlin's face in my mind_. He was trying to convince himself there was nothing but simple sense of honor that had made him disobey his father's order and rush south, looking for ways to save Merlin. However, even back then Arthur felt there was something else, but the circumstances of his mission didn't give him enough time to elaborate on that. _If only I had known Merlin had been heels over head in love with me, I would have come back and dragged him into my chambers and pinned him to my bedsheets and made his lips part to welcome mine. We would have had so much more time._

But Merlin was not by his side in the southern Essetir as Arthur was following his two bewitched knights closer to the border with Balor. Neither were any other riders on their way. _If we met somebody, I could've asked for help. But these lands are as good as empty_. Arthur was alone, facing the darker side of magic. In point of fact, Arthur couldn't evade thinking magic had mostly been presented to him in the darker tones for a reason. So far, Merlin was the only amber of light from the mysterious realm of spells, shapeshifting, poisons, cursed gems and dreadful creatures. All the magic except the one nesting in Merlin's heart seemed evil, wicked and treacherous, and Arthur wondered why Merlin was so different. _He keeps saying magic's like a sword, its good or evil residing in the hand of that who wields it. Then why haven't I met many honorable men who have magic? Where are the magic knights then, sworn to protect order and justice? Why have I mostly met people who use magic for violence?_

Arthur had drained two waterskins by the time they crossed the border with Balor. The peaks of Isgaard were to his right, and thick inky rainclouds were gathering around the sharp pointy rocks that threatened to pierce the sky and make it bleed with rain. His eyes were sore and dry from losing a night's sleep, but sleep was the last thing on his mind. He felt something change about Lamia: the closer the night was, the more unruly she'd become. When she spotted clouds in the sky, she put on a horribly satisfied smile.

The thicket was unfolding around them, and the sunlight was all but gone from the sky. The evenfall was before them, Arthur was sure, and suddenly, Owaine and Modron stopped and dismounted their horses. Lamia, too, jumped on the ground.

"Go away," she said, smirking and twirling her hair. "Your magic holds no power over me. I could've killed you anytime I wished."

 _My magic? Is she mad?_ Arthur dismounted his horse, giving Owaine and Modron the friendliest look he could produce, full of vain hope his knights would recognize him. The did recognize him as their enemy, and Arthur's ear pricked as he heard the sound of blades escaping sheath.

"Then…what are you waiting for?" Arthur asked, drawing his sword.

"Sunset is not upon us yet. But I have other means to get rid of you while I wait. You're tired, young sir. Tired and hungry, and your body is in pain from riding the whole day. You will not stand the fight against two young knights, will you?"

"We shall see," Arthur smirked, setting his feet shoulder-length to get into the defensive position.

There was a flash of green in Lamia's eyes, and Modron and Owaine threw themselves at Arthur, their blades sharp and hungry. Lamia was right - it was a combat where Arthur wouldn't have lasted two minutes, since Owaine's and Modron's physical power didn't suffer and was sustained by a source of evil magic. However, Arthur didn't plan to turn it into a combat.

He knelt down and grabbed a handful of wet soil to throw it into Modron's face, blinding the young man who cursed and began to wave his sword aimlessly. In the meantime, Arthur defended himself from two hammering blows of Owaine, let the man close and as their steels kissed, Arthur kicked Owaine between his legs, making the young man fall on the ground and shove his hands to his wounded manhood. _Owaine, I'm sorry._ Arthur kicked him on the head and rushed to disarm Modron, which wasn't a demanding task, since the blinded youth was still trying to clean his eyes off the dirt. Arthur grabbed Modron by the tunic and sent him into the nearest tree.

"You fight without honor!" Lamia hissed angrily.

"You dare speak about honor," Arthur said, his chest rising in fury and his sword hungry for blood. "You have magic and use it to corrupt people's minds and hearts..."

"I don't have magic," Lamia said. "I am magic."

The girl stepped back and threw her arms up in the air and tilted her head to look in the sky. The next moment, the girl was no more, for a crack appeared at her throat, and then there was blood and the crack went down as though an invisible sword cut Lamia open from throat to belly, but instead of her entrails, something else sprouted from the wound in her body - long, black and soaked in slime, the long and thick tentacles. Her human skull cracked, too, torn apart by a new head twice the size, and cobra-like in shape, with green eyes radiating hate and malice. The creature that had been nesting in the body of the girl was the true Lamia, and Arthur stepped back, terrified by the dozens of tentacles slamming at the ground. _If I cut off one, she'll still have eleven else, and there is no chance in bloody hell I will reach her head!_

Modron and Owaine were on the ground, useless and wounded, and Arthur had nobody to rely on but himself. When Lamia tried to wrap her tentacle around Arthur's feet, her cut it off immediately, but she grabbed his sword with another tentacle and threw the blade away. Arthur was alone and disarmed against her, and he glanced at the ground, looking for a stone to throw at the creature, but he knew it was too late.

A dozen of her tentacles were thrown at him at once, and when Arthur thought everything was lost, he remembered the night of the summer feast and the way Merlin would giggle at Arthur trying to wash his servant's face off the royal seed. _Merlin. I'm so sorry._

The next moment, Arthur could feel his tunic burn, and something slammed him in the chest, something stronger than a hammer. Arthur could feel himself flying off as the ray of blue light shot from the gemstone he was wearing and shaped a bluish shield in the air, right where Lamia's tentacles were about to strike. The creature shrieked and Arthur could smell an awful stench of burnt serpent flesh. The blue shield started rotating in the air and before long it erupted with a thick ray of bluish light that roasted Lamia, burning her through and leaving holes in her body. The creature fell on the ground, caught in convulsions of terrible pain, but she dared not attack Arthur again. Arthur understood little about what was happening, but he saw that the trees caught fire, and watched the burning Lamia slither away into the darkness of the forest. His horses ran away as well.

When Lamia retreated, Arthur heard Owaine and Modron produce weak moans.

"The hell happened?!" Owaine screamed hysterically, when he lifted his head to the flames of forest fire around them. "Where is Modron?! Why do my balls hurt like hell?!"

"Your balls?!" Modron attempted to rise to his feet. "Why is there sand in my eyes?! Arthur?!"

"Quickly, the two of you. We need to get away from the fire," Arthur commanded, happy the mind of his knights had recovered. _What if Lamia is still close?_ He grabbed the burning tree branch off the ground and helped Owaine get up.

"Arthur, what happened?" Modron asked when the flicker of forest fire was safely behind their backs. "Where's the girl?"

"There was no girl," Arthur said, still afraid Lamia would appear from behind any tree. "She was a monster in disguise."

"A monster?" Owaine gasped.

"Yes, with tentacles and cobra-head. And magic to make lads submit to her will, it seems."

"Why haven't you submitted to her will?"

"I don't know. Maybe because of this stone on my chest?"

"You haven't taken it off?" Owaine asked worriedly.

"No. Why are you asking?"

"Merlin demanded that I saw to it."

"Saw to what?" Arthur stopped, raising the burning branch high. "Owaine?"

"You shouldn’t take the moonstone off. Under no bloody circumstances. The moment you do, all the healing effect of the magic will be lost. Merlin told me that himself, while you were... unconscious."

"Healing effect? What else do you know of this moonstone?" Arthur demanded. "Answer me! I command you, Owaine, I am your king."

"The one who’s wearing a moonstone draws the life force out of the one wearing sunstone. To restore someone’s health with magic, one must sacrifice some health in return. Merlin put a moonstone on you so that you could live. He wore the sunstone so that his life force would go to you. That's what he told me. I thought you... I thought you knew?"

Arthur howled from a sense of miserable helplessness and betrayal, and it was a beastly howl that could match that of a wolf. Modron and Owaine jumped back and fright, and Arthur started squashing the trees with a burning branch in his hand. When the branch cracked and collapsed to pieces, Arthur threw himself at the nearest oak and started hitting it with his bare hands until his fists were bleeding. _He fooled me. Fooled me again, he lied to me, after lying for all the time before we..._

It pained Arthur, pained so much he couldn't recognize his own thoughts. Did Merlin really love him since he was lying to him all the time? _He didn't go to Camelot for weapons, he went there to look for the solution of sunstone and moonstone. Silly stupid thing!_ Arthur kicked the oak, and a sense of mild relief ran through his body when he imagined it was Merlin he was kicking. _What rights does he have to throw himself mindlessly in danger for me? To stake his life for mine without my leave? Does he imagine how terrible it is to know that people you loved sacrificed their life for you? No, he doesn't, because he doesn't think, he never thinks, never, he only acts on feelings and he's..._

Arthur thought things were different between them, he thought that after Merlin had revealed his magic to him, he was empty of secrets, and they could trust each other. _Will Merlin ever be honest with me? Isn't he accustomed to lying? What am I to do now? Is Merlin dying for me? IS THERE NOTHING I CAN DO?!_

"Arthur, please, whatever you do, don't take this stone off," Owaine approached him warily, like a man that was about to tame a wild animal. "Merlin did it because he had no other choice."

"He could've told!" Arthur screamed in wild anger. "After I gained my strengths, he could've told me himself!"

"Arthur, I'm sure he will set things right in the end, he always does. You'd told us yourself he's your rabbit's foot long before you found out he had magic."

_And what if he doesn't?! Will he join the long list of people who died for me?! The list that begins with my mother's name?!_

"THEY ARE HERE!" the voices rose in the darkness.

Arthur glanced at Owaine, terrified. None of them had swords or horses. _If we're outnumbered, we are doomed_. Arthur backed off, praying the moonstone could protect him not only from magic threats, but from the mortal ones, too.

Shadows emerged in the thicket, shadows of stout bearded men with axes and daggers in their hands. Arthur could count at least twenty of them.

"D'you stupid fellas know what happens to peasants who set the lord's forest on fire?" a stranger barked out in an angry tone.

"What if you're the lord who owns this forest?" Modron replied, stepping forward all of a sudden.

"The spiders take me! Notton, shove a blade up my arse if I ain't seeing a ghost!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Halfway point of the fic! 
> 
> I can't believe 40 chapters are behind us already ! 
> 
> Now begins the countdown and from now on, expect two chapters on Wednesday!


	41. Castle of Stone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and his knights arrive at the Castle of Nemeton

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

"I can't believe that you fellas have slaughtered a lamia!" Sir Dessen voice was soaked through with bewilderment. "A lamia! A real lamia! I would've pissed my breeches and left pools of piss behind myself had I ever met her!"

"I'm sure I would've pissed, too, but I tell you, Dessen, she put a spell on me."

"Make no mistake she did. That's what Lamia do. They put spell on lads like you and drag 'em off to forests and torture 'em and make 'em fight other lads, and then make 'ese lads pleasure them and taste their seed and kill 'em bloody. Right, Notton?"

"Truth," Sir Notton replied a bit too eagerly. "Pure truth!"

"You lads are green boys! Still can't believe you... The spiders bite my fat arse, Modron, not only do you come back from the dead, but you also bring prince Arthur with you and..."

"More like it's prince Arthur who brings me. He saved me twice already. In the forest of Brechfa and from lamia, my house owes a big debt to his grace."

 _I didn't save you in Brechfa. It was Merlin. Merlin, who saved not only you and Owaine, but also me. But Goddess, at what price? For what time has he tried to offer his life in return for mine?! Without telling me?!_ Arthur wouldn't be surprised to learn that his feverish breathing was making the night air melt. _I'd set the forest ablaze if I could._

Arthur didn't care much about what Modron was discussing with the knight from the Forest Watch of Balor and Nemeton. He was following the party aimlessly, tired to the extent of being able to walk with his eyes closed. The forests of Balor were thick and lush, alive with noises that could both, stir and frighten the hunters. The party they had stumbled upon knew the forests well; when Sir Notton and Sir Dessen saw the fire in a distant part of the thicket, they rushed to lead their men there. Little did they suspect about the reason behind the forests fire, and least of all did they expect to find the heir of Nemeton alive, despite the reports from Camelot declaring him dead.

And now they were leading Modron to the castle of Nemeton, and all the twenty men were busy discussing what Modron's survival and King Ryence's assault on the life of Modron, Owaine, prince Arthur and the other knights-to-be from Arthur's patrol would mean for Nemeton. All men were sharing their points of view, trying to guess what the council would rule out. All but one. Arthur was silent.

Merlin's betrayal was a blow, a dagger into Arthur's back. It wasn't the fact that Merlin had summoned this weird sunstone and moonstone magic. After Merlin had told all the stories about the times he'd volunteered to die for Arthur, Arthur found it not so surprising. _Why did he choose to keep it from me? Why did he choose to lie? He has told me about so many things, and yet he chose to keep the most intimate things secret. Can you love someone who is constantly a secret away from you? Oh, Merlin, Merlin..._

"... and what Ryence did is unlike him. Poison? That’s called treason. He was too great a warrior for that cowardice… We shall escort King Arthur to Camelot, I tell you all!" Sir Dessen's voice sounded twice louder from behind the veil of darkness. "We shall present him to the court, for all the lords and ladies to witness!"

"I'd see you try, smart-arse, when Ryence has hosts positioned at the castles of Chemary, Brechfa and Woodspeak. Why d'you think he's placed men there?" Sir Noton said, whistling for some time in silence. "The invasion was faked, Ryence needs none of those stupid soldiers in Midlands. The hosts are there for one purpose only: to block Arthur if he intends to march on the castle of Camelot. The merchants tell tales, you heard 'em yourself, aye? All the passages and roads between Gedref and Denaria are guarded like a maiden's cunt. They fear Arthur will go to the west, to where late Uther's aunt resides."

The men burst into a heated discussion again. Arthur sighed. He feared these hunter's party would have decided his fate and the fate of the kingdom by the time they reached the castle of Nemeton.

Suddenly, Owaine appeared by his side, his fair hair making it easier to recognize the lad in the darkness.

"Arthur, your majesty..."

"Stop calling me that. We are not at court. And you can call me Arthur. Just Arthur. If I ever win this throne, Owaine, you and Modron will be the only people to never kneel before me, I promise."

"What about Merlin?" Owaine asked cautiously.

"I don't want to talk about him," Arthur cut it off. "Not now."

"Arthur, he's so loyal he's ready to die for you..."

_No. He's so stupid and selfish that he's ready to die for me._

"I want to know when my people mean to give their life up for me, Owaine. I am not the king who takes it for granted. Secrets are a step from lies. Lies prompt mistrust. Mistrust leads to misunderstanding. Misunderstanding is the road to hate."

Seeing that little could be done to alter the course of Arthur's feelings at the moment, Owaine retreated, and Arthur resumed the lonely walk.

They were in the depth of night when Arthur saw what appeared to be a dream. _A mountain is looking at me._ Arthur thought that two days without sleep had played a jape with his sight and his mind, but he then realized the mountain was real and it had two eyes.

"That's the castle of Stone," Modron whispered into Arthur's ear. "The Watching Mountain, we call it. We light the fire in the mouths of two caves, and at night, it would seem to a wanderer that the mountain has two eyes."

Arthur remembered that the castle of Nemeton belonged with a mountain peak, but he was never told it had these fire eyes.

"You have caves in the castle?" he asked in a tired voice.

"Castle? The castle of Nemeton is a mountain, with hundreds of caves and tunnels running through it. Didn't Geoffrey tell you?"

"I... I must have slept at that lesson," Arthur smiled.

"When Ashkanar the Obstinate quarreled with the King of Camelot over the execution of Sigan, he went south and took his dragons with him. He invaded Nemeth and started building himself a new seat, on the sea shore and rock islands. He called it the castle of Gedref. People of Nemeth resisted this dragonlord, but he answered with dragons and dragonflames, and his wrath knew no limits. The nemethians proved stubborn, though, and kept attacking him and rising against Ashkanar.

"One day he decided to put an end to this defiance once and for all. He took all his dragons into the air and attacked our land. A great deal of people burnt, and the waters of river of Gethwick boiled. Those who sought shelter from the dragon wrath hid in the caves of the Watching Mountain. Soon they found out the caves had tunnels, all interconnected and linking various levels of the mountain, and there were pools of heated streams and wells rich in water and much more... In the end, many nemethians submitted to the reign of Ashkanar and broke away from Nemeth, and called their territory Nemeton. The Lords of Nemeton even having bent their knees to Ashkanar, had a mistrust for dragonlord nonetheless and decided to have their seat in the Watching Mountain, for it was the only place where they felt safe."

"The castle of Nemeton is countless sections of caves and tunnels in the mountain?" Arthur asked, frowning.

"It's not as bad as it sounds," Owaine whispered. "Its pools are great, and the feasts... you will find out soon enough."

It took further hours to climb a smaller mountain opposite the Watching Mountain, but the climb was easy, for the path ahead was a broad and well-maintained. At the western slope of the lesser mountain, the bridge was thrown that reached the Watching Mountain. It was the early morning when they set their foot on the bridge, and the cold stars of the morning were still flickering beneath the inky clouds. The Watching Mountain's eastern slope was encrusted with murky granite walls and watchtowers, and Arthur could not imagine the architects that possessed the secret of such a craft. _To build walls and watchtowers into the mountain? This castle can't be stormed._ There were three layers of walls wrapped around the castle, each a little thinner than the previous one.

"Don't tell me the lord's chambers are at the third level," Arthur whispered as he glanced at the black void beneath the broad bridge. _How high is this bridge?_

"They used to be," Modron replied with a smile. "But those days are long gone. Now the lords are at the second level. The first level is for servants, hunters, traders and guards."

Arthur could feel wind howling and blowing stronger than he ever remembered. The stone bridge between the two mountains inspired little trust, and Arthur wished to get to the other side quicker. He was happy to see the gates open.

"Aren't there any other entrances?"

"The Watching Mountain had caves at the base of it, but they had long been sealed and destroyed by the castellans. The only entrance to the castle is through the Lonely Bridge. Rodor's grandfather once brought an army to capture the castle of Nemeton. I tell you, two hundred guards were enough to hold five thousand swords off. We kept throwing 'em off the bridge, from dawn to sunset."

The gates opened wide for them, and Arthur heard Sir Notton shout something to the guards. The view behind the gates was most peculiar, though. In most of the castles Arthur had been to, the central street would begin at the gates, but in the castle of Nemeton, the opened gates unmasked a giant mouth of a tunnel that led somewhere deep into the mountain. A fat fire was kept in a special hearth with a roof to protect it from the rain. _Their ancestors must have been so afraid of the dragons they were ready to live in the caves. Well, it's no wonder. Remember the Great Dragon and what it did to Camelot._

Arthur was too tired to follow the way, but sometimes he just couldn't take his eyes of the walls embodied with strange paintings, colored mosaics and maps. The tunnels were broad and high enough for whole carts to follow and for two wagons to pass abreast, and had little to no incline at all. There were doors in them that led to smaller or bigger caves which served as halls or chambers. To Arthur, the castle of Nemeton seemed like the corridors of Camelot, only without windows and a single shaft of sunlight. To keep the tunnels lit, the castellans designed a strange system of mirrors that carried the reflection of the thick fat fire burning at the gates.

"Lighting torches inside the tunnels is permitted, but if we keep them lit for too long, there's too much smoke. We've always relied on mirrors, since sunlight doesn't get deep into the tunnels."

"No wonder you're so pale," Arthur snorted.

As they kept walking the tunnels, the spearmen that were supposed to guard them abandoned their positions and came to pet Modron on the back or on the shoulder, not believing their own eyes that told them the heir of Nemeton had come back to live. By the time they had reached a winding stair, the party of twenty hunters turned into a party of half a hundred men composed of servants, spearmen, hunters, cooks and local merchants who were lured out of their rooms by the thunder of steps. A girl rushed down the staircase, with a candle flickering in her hand and a mask of confusion on her face.

"What is the meaning of this?!" she demanded, and the candle nearly fell out of her hand once she could estimate the number of people by the steps. "Lady Pellinore..."

Modron stepped forward and invited Arthur and Owaine to follow him. When the maidservant noticed the heir of Nemeton, the candle did fall out of her hand, and she gasped, backing off into the wall, as though she were afraid she'd seen a ghost.

Arthur followed Owaine and Modron up the stair, to the small hall with the first window for Arthur to see. Well, it wasn't a proper window - it was a mouth of a cave, a hole in the mountain slope with a view over the lush greenery of the forests. The door to Lady Pellinore's solar was on the other side of the hall.

The doors swung open before Modron could start to knock, and the woman appeared - dressed in her modest grey sleeping robes, she was as black-haired as Modron, and even more curly. She had a slim face with slender jaw and thin lips, and a thin scarline on the left eyelid.

"Stessa, what is going on?" she shouted, requiring some explanation from her serving girl.

She stopped dead at the sight of the three men in her hall. Lady Pellinore opened her mouth to call for guards, but when she recognized her reportedly dead son among the strangers…

"Modron?.." was all she could say after seemingly many attempts to make a sound.

"Mother!"

Arthur felt his cheeks twitch as the smile appeared on his face. He remembered that magical night too well. Many a time had he tried to force himself to irradiate the memory, but such ruthlessness was beyond him. When he traveled to the ruins of the ancient castle to meet Morgause, she let him meet his mother - and even though Merlin told him it was all lies and treachery, the joy from seeing her, from talking to her, from knowing that there used to live a soul who loved him and cared about him without imposing heavyweight ideas of duty, valor and kingship upon him... _She smiled at me as though she were proud just because I was her son. Being her son was enough to earn her love. Oh, mother._

In the meantime, Lady Pellinore flung herself at Modron, and Arthur was worried she'd break his ribs as tears and hysterical weeping overpowered the woman's being. She was so desperate to hold Modron in her arms, to feel that it was her son come flesh again, her only trueborn child and the sun of her life that had been thought to set way too early. 

"Modron, son, my dear, my sweet son," it seemed every word made Modron's pale face redden as he kept sinking in his mother's arms. "Modron, I don't understand... I don't understand, I truly don't, oh, Modron... Is that really you?! It is! It is you! Oh, Modron, my boy..."

"Mother," Modron said, his eyelashes soaked with tears. "Mother, I am so sorry I didn't let you know, but it was the only way. Mother, I trust you've seen prince Arthur?"

Lady Pellinore let Modron out of her arms only to clutch his shoulder; the woman needed something to lean on.

"Mother, are you unwell?"

"P-p-prince Arthur?" she mumbled weakly.

"My lady," Arthur bowed his head down.

"This is prince Arthur... That's Owaine of House Gedref!"

"Oh, Modron, what is happening?!" she sounded as though she was about to faint. "You were all reported dead! Bors is in Camelot to..."

"Father must come home as soon as possible," Modron said, coldly. "Mother, I shall explain everything to you. But can we please make Arthur a guest in my own chambers? He saved my life this very night and he had remained sleepless for two days."

"What? I... Well... Of course! Oh, Arthur, I mean, your grace... I will see to it at once... Modron, I still can't believe it! Stessa! Stessa, come here, you silly girl, quick! I know, I have seen him, I'm not blind! Now listen..."

Arthur's eyes were closing on his own when Modron escorted him to his sparse and small windowless chambers with a bed made of stone.

"Do wake me before noon," he ordered. "And don't write any letters without me."

"We won't," Owaine promised. "Goddess be good, Arthur, you've been on your feet for more than two days, have some rest. I feel like I'm about to fall asleep any moment, too."

When Owaine and Modron left him in the room, Arthur turned on his side to face the wall, and touched the moonstone on his chest. He knew what was coming. _Modron will be telling his mother that Nemeton will have to fight and bleed for the cause of justice. For my cause._ In the swift black tranquility of the room, Arthur pressed a soft kiss to the moonstone and felt cold tears glide down his cheeks. He was crying, because it took him only a moment to realize that he would need no stupid rebellions or crowns and he would never fight for the cause of justice unless Merlin would be safe in his arms again. All the anger that was making his heart beat faster suddenly melted away, and all that was left was a feeling of desperate need for Merlin and the wish to see him safe and healthy. Fears were howling in Arthur's mind. _I'd give up every crown if that could make him safe. Yet how safe is Merlin, leagues away and with that sunstone on his chest?_ Arthur pressed another kiss to the gleaming stone, hoping Merlin would somehow feel it.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on Wednesday! <3


	42. Fathers and Sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur presents his cause to the council of Nemeton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

Arthur woke up a different man. The fate and destiny of his kingdom were a burden to rest on his shoulders and to fill his dreams with horrific scenes of battles in snow. He had ridden from Ealdor a determined man, ready to follow the most winding path of his cause and to serve justice to the enemies who murdered his father. He woke up in the castle of Nemeton a worried lover, whose main concern was the well-being of a silly stupid overprotective little star. _My little star._

Arthur got up and rubbed his eyes. _Did I really escape a lamia? Was it true what the knight from the hunting party told about these creatures? Did she intend to drag Modron and Owaine into the caves of Balor to have their seed and kill them? Modron and Owaine._

Arthur was moving in complete darkness, trying to remember where the door to his room was. When he found the door he kicked it open, storming out into the hall with a natural window in the wall. The lush forests were dark-green and brooding, and the sea of leaves lasted until the murky towers of Isgaard mountain chain.

The maidservant of Lady Pellinore was sitting on a stone bench, busy with some needlework.

"Prince Arthur!" she gasped, jumping to her feet.

"And what will your name be?" Arthur inquired politely.

"Stessa," the girl said shily.

"Stessa, would you please tell me what hour it is? And tell me where Modron and Owaine are?"

"It's about to dawn, your majesty."

"Dawn?" Arthur didn't like it. "We arrived shortly before dawn..."

"Your majesty, you slept the whole day and the whole night."

Arthur sighed heavily. _I told 'em to wake me before noon. I've wasted a whole day._ The hall spun as Arthur's anger filled his sleepy mind.

"I trust Sir Owaine and Sir Modron are still in their beds?" Arthur said, pricking his toes since the chill in the hall was almost palpable.

"They are. I have been instructed to escort you to the pools once you awoke. For a bath, my lord."

"Good. Can you show me to the privy, too? And ask other servants to bring Owaine and Modron to the pools as well?"

After the visit to the privy room, Arthur descended the winding staircase that led to the improvised tower of Lady Pellinore. Stessa was leading him, with a lantern swaying in her hand. She led Arthur along writhing corridors, that were either narrowing or widening before them, and Arthur loved the way the lantern fire shimmered on the ancient blades that would grace the stone walls. He had caught the smell of kitchen chambers and wondered what would be served for breakfast. _I can really eat a boar now._

This time, they descended a staircase and went along a gloomy corridor that ended in a room of splendor Arthur had never seen before. It was a room with a long square pool of satin waters, high round columns holding the ceiling, and strange marble statues between the columns. In the left wall, a hole had been hammered in the mountain slope that served as a single window and a single source of light in the exquisite hall. The morning sunbeams would illuminate the opposite wall, with paintings that told the brief history of Nemeton: forest men hunting, dragons roaming the sky, flames befalling the kingdom, people firing arrows at the sky and survivors hurrying to the Watching Mountain.

"There are cloths to dry yourself after bath, my lord," the girl pointed at the corner of the hall. "I shall send some proper things for you to wear with Sir Owaine and Sir Modron, my lord."

Stessa bowed down and went out of the room. Arthur remained frozen for some time. In the castle of Camelot, servants had to bring bath tubs with hot water up from the kitchen, and often the water had to be scented with fragrant oils so that it wouldn't carry the aromas of the dinner. In the castle of Nemeton, all you had to do was descend to the bottom level of the castle, where an ancient pool had its waters blue and hot.

However, there was no Merlin to wash his hair or scrub his back or... _Well, now our baths can be much more fun_ , Arthur thought with a smile, but then the bluish glow of the pool waters reminded him of the gemstone he was wearing. _The gemstone that's keeping me alive at the price of Merlin's life._

Arthur undressed himself and followed steps into the pool. The water was surprisingly hot. _There must be a source of heat beneath it, right?_ Arthur dove and swam. The marble pool seemed as large as a lake for Arthur, and he smiled at the sight of tiny red fish that would nibble curiously at his skin. It felt so good to close his eyes and just float, knowing he had some time to rest without threats of Ryence's assassins or lamia or any other magic beasts in the span of his sight. The morning light draw his attention to the paintings on the wall, and Arthur thought about Ashkanar the Obstinate.

 _He had many dragons and he was able to invade Nemeth and build the Castle of Gedref... Why did he stop? He had dragons to command. He could have conquered any land he wished. Why didn't he save Sigan if he protested his execution so much he had to flee the druid land?_ The thoughts of dragons and conquest disquieted him, and suddenly, he felt happy about the fact that all dragonlords were gone from the world.

_If there were a dragonlord to command the last Great Dragon... Then the whole kingdom would be doomed. This man would've been able to burn cities and cook lords and ladies inside castles. Were he to align with the wrong man..._

A loud boom made him open his eyes. He saw Modron and Owaine jump into the pool, dive and send waves against the marble walls. They were laughing and trying to send splashes of water against each other.

"I'm going to drown you both for letting me sleep for so long," Arthur threatened them, swimming their way like a dangerous and hungry sea fish.

"Arthur, for Goddess's sake, you've spent two days without sleep. You _had_ to sleep," Owaine did try to apologize.

"While I was sleeping..."

"Nothing happened," Modron assured him. "I delivered the message to mother. She shared it with her council, but they will not make any decision before you speak to them."

"I shall do it after breaking my fast," Arthur nodded.

"Remember what I told you. It's best they don't know you're heading to Nemeth after Nemeton."

Arthur emitted a heavy sigh. _I am so mad at Merlin for lying to me. Will I start my rebellion with lies, too?_ "How did your mother take the whole story?"

" The whole castle’s mad about me being alive. Mother nearly fainted. Still keeps hugging me all the time, it's like she needs to feel I'm real. And I fell asleep with her sitting on the edge of my bed, as if I were a little boy."

"You are a little boy. You are just sixteen," Owaine giggled.

"Swim closer and I'll show you a little boy."

Arthur rolled his eyes at the sight of Owaine and Modron staging a folly combat in the pool. _Green boys. Green boys and my only hope._

***

"Prince Arthur, feel welcome," Lady Pellinore had dressed herself specially for the occasion, wearing a long-sleeved gown of pale purple silk and hair net of green gems.

Arthur was summoned to a great round room on the second level, with walls of bare black stone. It had two narrow windows; one looked out to the lesser mountain, another one - to the cobweb of a large walled town that occupied two banks of a river not far from the mountain. Seated in chairs beside a great table were the members of Lady Pellinore's council, less than a dozen men and women who were eying him curiously. Arthur was happy to recognize Sir Notton among them, and it appeared the bearded hunter had winked at Arthur.

"My lady, I thank you for your hospitality," it felt odd to switch to the formal court speech after spending three days in the company of lads who'd often curse and swear. "It is good to be sheltered in your castle after the tiring journey."

"The pleasure is ours. It's not every day that mothers are presented with their sons that come back from the dead," Lady Pellinore smiled. "And this lamia... We've been receiving reports about a creature of magic troubling the life of our small folk... Yet we were helpless to find her."

"The lads roasted a lamia!" Sir Notton said proudly, slamming his fist against the table. "They shall be rewarded!"

"My lord," Arthur smiled. "The only reward I require is the chance to talk to this honorable council and to the Lady of the castle, since Lord Bors is in Camelot."

_A guest or a hostage?_

"The chance is yours, prince Arthur," Lady Pellinore nodded and took her seat.

"My lords and ladies," Arthur began confidently. "I stand before you, even though I was announced dead weeks ago. As was the heir of this castle. And the heir of the castle of Gedref. Yet no matter what Ryence of House Gingawaine tried to tell you in his letters, we are the solid proof that Ryence is nothing but a treacherous liar. Cunning and full of envy to my late father, yet a liar nonetheless."

Arthur cleared his throat and enjoyed the moment when the looks of the councilor seemed glued to him, so engrossed were they in the words the prince was speaking.

"Ryence lied about many things. He lied about us dying in the patrol on the border with Brechfa, and he lied about the reason of my father's death. Uther didn't die of heart attack, my lords and ladies. Uther had been served poison that was destined to weaken his heart, to make sure it would collapse at the grievous news brought to him."

"Do you have any proof that would support the assumption that Uther was poisoned?" a clean-shaved man to the right of Lady Pellinore asked.

"The proof I have are the assassins that tried to kill me and my knights-to-be in the forest of Brechfa. And the ugly story Ryence tried to spread about me and my family."

"Arthur the Wraith," Lady Pellinore nodded. "I didn't believe it for a single moment. There was something fishy about it, I knew."

"Now Ryence sits upon the throne of my father, the father he had poisoned and murdered in a manner that's not worthy of a great warrior that Ryence undoubtedly was," Arthur concluded. "But he failed. He didn't kill me, and I can't let a usurper sit upon the throne of my father. This usurper tried to kill the heir of your castle as well, remember it, my honorable lords and ladies."

Lady Pellinore glanced at Modron again, as though to check the dark-haired youth had not vanished into thin air.

"You appear weeks after Ryence was elected king. Have you made anything to let Ryence and the other members of the royal court know that you, the heir-apparent of Camelot, survived?" another fair-haired man thrice Arthur's age asked.

"What for, my lord? To let Ryence know where I was? To help his assassins find way and finish what they couldn't finish in the forest of Brechfa?"

"What if Ryence was elected by mistake? What if the members of the court were led to believe that you died? Led by mistake, not by malice? Wouldn't presenting yourself to the court of Camelot help us all correct this mistake?"

"I do not wish to hand myself to the man whom I suspect of murdering my father, my lord. What justice am I to expect from him since I am widely believed to be a wraith by most of the Camelot guards?” Arthur reminded them with a smirk.

"Then what is your plan, Arthur Pendragon? And what will you require of us?" Lady Pellinore felt the tension at the council grow.

_She fears war._

"I want you to recognize the nature of my cause. The justice of my cause, to begin with. By all the rights and laws of men, I am the rightful king of Camelot. And I mean to spread the word about it and to let people of Camelot know I am alive. I want your council to verify my identity with your seals and call your banners."

The silence that hang above the table was lasting terribly long. Lady Pellinore kept glancing at Modron. The fair-haired old man coughed and rose to his feet.

"My good lords and ladies. Usurper or not, Kin... Ryence of House Gingawaine holds the castle of Camelot, the Mercian trade road, the rich fields of Midlands and its castles. He guards both passes in the White Mountains. If he decided to ignore Arthur's claim, he would do it easily. Nemeton's population hardly surpasses forty thousand, while the Midlands alone have one hundred and forty thousand people. If Ryence raises an army in the Midlands... What other allies do you have? Other people who can support your claim? Without such allies, your rebellion is suicide."

"I have the heir of Gedref by my side," Arthur gestured at Owaine, who straightened himself and tried to broaden his shoulders.

"The castle of Gedref is as impregnable as ours, I grant you that. Sadly, our population numbers are similar, too. Gedref would bring another forty thousand to your side. If Balor rises for you, too, you will have one hundred and twenty thousand people supporting your claim, still less than the number found in Midlands. And if Ryence adds the numbers of Camelot to the numbers of Brechfa..."

Arthur glanced at Modron. _I'm sorry._

"I mean to travel to Nemeth and ask King Rodor to verify my identity, too. That would make Ryence think I have the power of Nemeth behind my back."

Whispers rose to shouts behind the table, and Arthur saw Modron slap his face with his palm.

"Nemeth?! That's an outrage. The nemethians will play no part in the fate of our kingdom. The nemethians have no right to open their mouths since they abandoned us and left us open to the dragon's wrath!" the clean-shaved man proclaimed.

"My lord, the days of Ashkanar are far behind us."

"But the treachery of Nemeth is as alive as your breath," the man snapped. "Thousands perished in the Cruel War, and we are not likely to forget it for another century!"

"You have to choose, boy," Sir Notton said, angry too. "Are you the king of Camelot or the prince of Nemeth?"

Arthur rolled his eyes. _Modron was right. But I couldn't lie. If I want Merlin to be honest with me, I will not build my cause upon lies. Never._

“Prince Arthur,” Lady Pellinore was trying to make her voice overpower the thunder of other male voices in the great room. “My council will never vote to raise banners for a man who is going to seek help in Nemeth. And I would advise you strongly against asking anything of King Rodor. Besides, raising banners is something only a Lord of Nemeton can order.”

“I am here to command the banners to be raised,” Modron announced to the silence that seized the council at once.

“Impossible,” the fair-haired old man shook his head. “Your father is not dead. He is alive, safe and secure in the castle of Camelot, and by all the rights it is he who is the Lord of Nemeton. You are his heir, and you don’t have the right to give commands before…”

“My father is the hostage of king Ryence, you bloody silly goats! In his absence, it is me who should see that Nemeton keeps the sacred vows of the land. I am bound to Arthur by oath. I never mean to break this oath,” Modron’s voice didn’t belong with a sixteen year old lad.

“Enough!” his mother rose to her feet to tower over the council. “We shall write a letter, summoning my husband back to Nemeton. Prince Arthur, you do understand that Ryence will never let my husband travel back to Nemeton if he learns Nemeton is raising banners? I plead you, stay with us until my husband comes back. Bors is the one to hold true power over Nemeton.”

_Stay? For how long? When will I see Merlin then?_

“My honorable lady, I thank you for the offer. However… time is not my ally. I need to act quickly. Would it be too much if I asked you to dispatch two dozen guards to escort me to King Rodor’s palace?”

_Come on, good lady, I’ve brought you your son back from the dead. It’s a small favor I’m asking in return._


	43. Alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is a guest at the feast thrown to celebrate Modron's return to Nemeton.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

Arthur could not recall the last time his visit had been feasted with such generosity of the hosting lord or lady. Singers and jugglers had been summoned from Mountsville, the city that sprouted across two banks of Gethwick like a cobweb. The songs rang in the Great Hall as the food was served to the lords, ladies, their heirs and honorable guests of the castle of Nemeton. Arthur saw loaves of brown, white and grey bread, immense cuts of ham, geese roasted with onions and mushrooms, and venison stewed with mead. Of wine there was plenty, and buttery cheese to be served with wine, and blackberry tarts and apple crisps for the sweet.

After the morning council, he had spent most of his time composing letters Owaine were to send from the castle of Gedref, providing Owaine’s attempt to rouse the council of Gedref would bear more fruit than Arthur's address to the council of Nemeton. After the morning negotiations, Modron, Owaine and Arthur locked themselves in one of the rooms on the second level, and Modron was shouting at Arthur for disclosing his Nemeth journey to his mother's court.

"I warned you not to bring Nemeth up! Arthur, why are you so eager to make your quest even more complicated?"

Arthur responded with a slam against the wall, telling Modron he was sixteen and not in the position to question the king's judgement. The dark-haired youth face got a little paler.

"If you disagree with my course, you may leave my side anytime. I can free you of your oath," Arthur said in a low voice.

"I never said I would leave your side. If a Gedref boy like Owaine can be of use, I can do far better, right?" Modron replied after a short break. "I just... I guess I have to help mother write a letter to father. And I will stay here and wait for father to arrive."

"Good," Arthur petted the lad on the shoulder. "In the meantime Owaine will travel to Gedref and try to raise the castle. I shall go to Nemeth and try and win King Rodor to our side."

Modron snorted at the sound of Rodor's name. The day had passed in preparations for Arthur's departure and for the feast. Arthur had asked Lady Pellinore to pen a letter to King Rodor, so that the guards at the border with Nemeth would let him in.

And now the feast was on. Lady Pellinore was at the center of the table, with Modron on her left. He was comely, more comely than Arthur expected, now that the heir of Nemeton had been dressed in striped silk cloak with the sigil of his house - a pointed arrow. The look in Modron's eyes was a bit too intelligent for a sixteen year old lad, but it was lively and playful as well, and his curly black locks could be envied by many a girl. The knights from the hunting party that had found them shared most of Modron's jests, and Modron's peers were there, too, sharing his merriment. Young girls were seated at the other table, awaiting first rounds of dances to be announced and trying the meals sparingly.

Arthur glanced at Modron who was bracing himself for first dance _. Let him stay in the castle. He's so young. I doubt he sees all the dangers about this adventure,_ Arthur thought _, sipping on his wine. He's seeking glory and honor. He's not in for some prize. What prize can he wish? He's the heir of Nemeton. He has all the riches to dream of. Maybe revenge for the deaths of Hengest, Aglovale and Evaine is something that keeps him going, too?_

Wine did something to Arthur’s senses, the way it always was. Arthur remembered the summer feast and the trick Merlin tried to play with him. _When he approached me and started whispering all those things into my ear, letting me feel the heat of his breath, his lips just a kiss away... Naughty little star. I would've never fucked him in the corridor had I not drunk that much wine. Goddess, what a folly it was! They could've caught us..._

Now Camelot was leagues away, and so was Merlin, and wine seemed the only solution to soften the blow from the rattle of terrible thoughts in his mind. Arthur was desperate to see bright side. _Merlin has magic. He can have a solution for these sunstone and moonstone. He has always set things right. I must trust in him_.

It was an easy thing to say, but not so easy a thing to convince himself in. To trust Merlin after learning that his servant had preferred to keep certain aspects of his magic tidings secret, even though they were in love... _Even though he crowned me. With his magic. He was bold enough to crown me, yet he lacks the strength and courage to look me in the eyes and tell me everything._

The thoughts about Merlin required more and more wine. He knew he'd soon lose sleep because of Merlin. How could he go to bed every night without knowing that Merlin was safe, too, without knowing that Merlin somehow managed to solve the sunstone and moonstone riddle? _Fighting battles is easier. In battle, everything is simple. Everything happens now, though time is hard to define, for the notion of common time blurs, slows, and flows so differently... Fighting is only about the present moment, the moment of instant, when your body and mind are both consumed by the will to win, to survive, to triumph, the will so strong it burns the fears away and then there is only your will and your foe, and the next foe, and the next one..._

Sitting in the great hall and watching the lads and girls dance to cheers and applause from the elder lords who, too, would invite the ladies... Arthur knew his courtesies too well and kept the smile on his face, but it felt as though worms crept beneath his skin and were eating him alive. Merlin was one thing, yet Ryence was another.

_Some of Lady Pellinore's council members were right. Ryence holds the Midlands, the castle of Camelot and its territories, the Mercian road, and Ascetir is at his command as well. He is guarding the passes in the White Mountains, which means he fears I'd go west and seek help from my father aunt Vyda. Which, in turn, means not everything is fine between King Ryence and Vyda Gaheris._

Arthur was savoring a blackberry tart, trying to taste the sweetness on his tongue to dispel the bitter memories about Vyda's visits to Camelot. The relationship between Uther and Vyda were the strangest one could observe at court. The crone would always verbally abuse Uther for not staying faithful to the traditions of the west, of the land Uther had been born to. Rumour had it that Uther nearly threw his aunt out of the window when she arrived to offer her condolences after Queen Ygraine's death. _"You must be happy you've only lost your lady wife. When the King of Daobeth was betrayed by a priestess, Daobeth lost a whole castle to the dragonflames."_ Arthur was five years old when Vyda brought half her court to assist Uther in his raids against druids. _"We must trap them and kill them while we can. We miss our chance, and they will spread through this land like a disease, I tell you."_ She stayed at the castle of Camelot again in the summer when the Second Gwynedd war broke out. _"You did a foolish thing in Essetir, Uther. Why stop at seizing Ascetir? It's like stopping at one bite of a chicken pie, who does it? I warn you, Uther, so long as you have this cesspool of magic in Essetir right across your border, your kingdom will be ploughed up with magic!"_ Some say Uther was happy to ride away into war, away from Vyda's annoying company. _It's not that hard to believe Ryence is having troubles with the crone. She recognizes no authority except for her own, and now she has two thousand swords at her disposal. Armed and trained and fed, and hungry for glory._

_But it matters not. Nothing matters. Merlin. He didn't trust me with truth. Unpleasant truth, but truth of great significance to me._

He knew this evening could be a farewell. _What if Lord Bors returns from Camelot and proclaims the support of my claim an utter folly?_

"Should you be drinking that much if you're to ride with first light?" Owaine appeared from behind his back.

"I'm not drinking much. You haven't seen me drinking much. Besides, one still has no idea about light in this strange castle, first light or second light or third light..."

"Arthur, you're drunk," Owaine noticed.

"I am absolutely not."

"I can see that by how you can't take your eyes off the dancing girls."

"Their gowns are shimmering. Or their skin," Arthur said with a content grin.

"Your majesty, nothing is shimmering," Owaine laughed. "Will you please let me escort you to your chambers?"

_“You must escort the prince to his chambers,” a memory of Uther said to Merlin in Arthur's mind. “He is feeling unwell.” The summer feast was loud and sinking in merriment. Lord Sagramore was dancing and threatening to tear the walls down with the mass of his fat belly._

"Escort. Good. Chambers," Arthur nodded.

Owaine whispered something to Lady Pellinore and returned to Arthur. Before leaving the great hall, Arthur cast his look over the feast that was thundering and roaring as it was just the beginning. _Look at them._ _So happy and careless. Of course. Their father has not been poisoned. And their Merlin hasn't lied to them._

"You know, Merlin once escorted me to my chambers after a different feast," Arthur boasted when they were walking the windowless tunnels of the castle.

"Well, he's your servant. Despite all his newfound talents, he was supposed to escort you to your chambers, I guess?"

"Oh, blimey, he was. He did an awful job, though. We didn't reach the chambers."

"You didn't?"

"Stopped in the corridor. To play a little game, you know."

"Arthur, you really are drunk. Careful, watch your steps. It's the staircase, the winding one."

"I'll be alone tomorrow, you know? You'll go to Gedref, and Modron will stay here, waiting for his father to arrive from Camelot... And I'll be alone. Without Merlin and my knights."

"Arthur, firstly, you will not be alone. You will be escorted by two dozen of Nemeton guards. Secondly, that's how it's supposed to be. We shall all play our part. By the time you return from Nemeth, the castle of Gedref will be waiting for you. Now careful, the door..."

"You know, I've never realized it. He's just... been around me all the time. Always so close. Always there to shout at... Always there to be called insolent and useless... He didn't keep his mouth shut, though, I assure you... Came with all sorts of stupid names for me... Dollops, heads, he just... And now he's not around and I can't sleep because now that I know the truth about sunny stones... How can I be sure he'll be around again?"

"He will come to Gedref. He promised," Owaine's tone was filled with unfeigned honesty. "Now careful, the bed... Goodnight, Arthur. You must sleep. Try to gather yourself, we shall talk in the morning."

 _You are wrong_ , Arthur thought as Owaine left him in the darkness. _He didn't just promise to come to Gedref. He swore an oath to me. He swore an oath. He solemnly swore that he will return to me, that he will come back to me, that he will meet in Gedref and he will remain by my side_

The wind rose out of nowhere, and it seemed to Arthur the shadows came to dance on the walls. He rubbed his eyes and lifted his head only to come across the horrifying sight that made him want to drop dead the instant. A woman was standing in his room, leaning on a staff, a gravely pale old thing shrouded in layers of dark robes so that her natural shapes were hard to tell.

"Who are you?" Arthur asked, the fear dulling his senses as he was slowly rolling to the edge of his bed. "What do you want from me?"

"I want nothing from you," she spoke in a whispering voice that appeared to come from the depths of the earth, and looked at Arthur with the eyes full of pain. "It's the opposite. I have brought something for you, dear prince."

"And what is it?"

"Peace," she promised, and Arthur had to close his eyes from the flash of white. When he opened them, the old woman was gone, and another figure appeared to take her place.

"Father!" Arthur gasped, and Uther Pendragon nodded in approval.

 


	44. The Darkest Hour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur talks to Uther's ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

It was Uther, the invariable Uther dressed in rich damask tunic with silver fastenings, a dark cloak lined with fox fur and worn-off leather gloves. He had a medallion on his chest, bearing the sigil of House Pendragon: the seated fat dragon with sprouted wings and long tail.

“Arthur,” his voice demolished the last shades of doubts and Arthur could not resist any longer. _It’s him! It’s father! He’s back! Back!_ He wanted to jump into Uther’s arms, to hug his father, but firstly, he needed to get out of bed.

“Father! Father, well, I thought… I thought I would never see you again,” Arthur’s attempts to stand up and hold his balance were miserable. Holding balance would have been, after all, a tough assignment for anybody who’d swallowed a bottle of southern wine at the feast. “There isn't an hour that passes when I don't think of you, father…”

“And I – you,” Uther said with the saddest of all smiles.

“Father, I felt so alone, so alone this evening, and I swear, I wanted… I mean, I wished more than anything that you were by my side.”

“Oh, did you? If I were at your side, Arthur, I fear you would not like all that I have to say,” the smile was gone from Uther’s expression as though he’d never worn it.

“What do you mean?” Arthur murmured.

“Many of the decisions you have made go against all that I taught you, son.”

_What? Isn’t he just happy to see me? What decisions?_

“Father, I have done what I have believed to be right.”

“You have ignored our tradition, our ancient laws,” Uther told him with a spite. “Instead of going to Daobeth to seek help from the members of your family, you have entrusted yourself in the hands of these green boys.”

“They are some of the finest knights that Camelot will ever know,” Arthur said proudly. “They would gladly give their lives for our kingdom.”

“They question your decisions!” Uther said with a terrible mock of a smile. “They make you look weak!”

_Lecturing. He’s lecturing me. He has come from the dead and all he wants is give me lectures instead of asking me how I feel without him._

“Listening to others is a sign of strength, not weakness.”

“How do you expect anyone to fear a King who allows people to question his decisions?”

“I don't want my people to fear me,” Arthur shook his head. _Fear and lies. This is not how I intend to rule, father._

“Then people will not respect you!” Uther’s laughter was a gust of a cold wind from a grave. “Then they will treat you like a beggar, when in fact you’re their liege! You could learn it when you tried to reason with these piddling Nemeton lords! They dared to defy you because they didn’t fear you! Arthur, you ought not have asked for their help. You hold all the power you need. Your betrothal to Princess Elena could serve to form an alliance with the kingdom of Gawant. You can retake your throne with her father’s army. Yet you choose to beg the Nemeton lords and…”

“I will not marry for a throne. If I ever marry, only for love”

“There are some things that are more important than love,” Uther eyes gleamed mean. “It is your duty to strengthen and protect the kingdom, the kingdom you’ve lost. So far you are failing.”

_I bloody know I am. But it hurts like hell to hear it from you, father._

“I have always strived to make you proud, father,” Arthur said in a voice strangled with tears.

“How can I be proud of a son who ignores everything that I taught him? Who is destroying my legacy?”

_What legacy? Your legacy smells of blood. Look at your kingdom. What good is a kingdom that falls to pieces without its sovereign?_

“However, not everything is lost. I can help you, son,” Uther’s voice was suddenly as soft and caring as a lullaby. “I can show you the way. I can teach you, Arthur. All you need is to take my hand.”

Uther stretched his arm to invite Arthur for a handshake. The instant he did, the chain of moonstone started jerking, and Arthur could feel the medallion trembling on his chest. _The last time this gemstone acted this way was when lamia tried to kill me. Does it mean father wishes to harm me?_

“Thank you, father, but I can learn myself now. You best go to where you’ve come from. I loved you, and I thought you loved me. Maybe I was wrong.”

Uther’s soft look was gone: fury shone from his black eyes, and suddenly, he rushed toward Arthur, bellowing in agony, his arms trying to reach for Arthur’s neck to seal the prince’s doom. Arthur backed off, and the trembling stone shot a ray of blue light to cast away the evil shadow of Uther Pendragon. A flash of white blinded the prince, who had to shield his eyes with his elbow. When he opened them again, the old pale woman in robes was back to the room, leaning on her staff.

“By all the rights your spirit belongs with the spirit world. The magic that courts you may be powerful, and I can’t have you… But I curse it, curse it, curse it!” the wind suddenly rose in the room. “So long as the magic of unicorn’s heart protects you, Arthur Pendragon, the spirit of your father will never know peace!”

Arthur saw her disappear a wisp of dark smoke. Terrified, he crawled out of his room into the hall where he started shouting for help. 


	45. Green Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur travels to the kingdom of Nemeth and sees a strange dream when he falls asleep in the inn of Stoneroad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

Arthur learnt that ghosts did help expel the effects of wine from the blood. He never returned to his room, yet his mind was cleared off all the merry briskness and he had no trouble standing up and maintaining his balance.

Come morning, and he was woken up by Owaine, who'd laugh at him for sleeping on a bench in the hall before hearing the story about the woman.

"You must not tell anybody 'bout it," he insisted as Arthur was following him to the pool. "You've brought enough troubles to the council of Nemeton. The last thing we need is to tell 'em the Cailleach came to one of their rooms."

"The what?"

"The Cailleach," Owaine said, dropping his clothes on the floor before jumping into the pool, happy to dive in the waters that would not cool. “But we best not talk about her here. What if the walls have ears?”

The wine, almost gone, still clouded his vision, but Arthur was sure there was something more than wine that made him look at Owaine's body in the new light. _Our hair are of similar colours. And he can have my shoulders in a few years._

"Owaine," Arthur said before he fell into the pool with a loud splash, hurting his belly. "Aren't we brothers somehow?"

"My father is your mother's cousin. What does it make us?" the lad laughed. "Some cousins twice removed or so? I don't know."

_Geoffrey taught me lineage of most houses... And he told most great houses are interrelated._

"Has your father ever shared any... stories about your...origins with you?"

"Shared?" Owaine splashed water on his face; his shoulders were glistening, two mountain peaks rising out of the pool. "What could he share, Arthur? He was eight years when it all happened. Doubt he understood _what_ had happened. He was little prince of the Seaside Kingdom, promised to rule after his father, King Reginald. From what my mother whispered into my ear rather carefully in the wagons when nobody could overhear us, I got a notion the story was a bit different..."

"That's the part of the family history I find most interesting," Arthur smiled. "I'd pay a good price to learn what people were telling each other about my father when they were sure nobody would overhear them."

Pink sun of the morning was sewn into the sheets of blue water as Arthur and Owaine were floating, trying to savor the great bath before departing the castle of Nemeton.

"So?" Arthur inquired. "How different was the story?"

"Everything changed after the Battle of Ashes. King Reginald was mad with grief and nobody could understand why. The dragonlords slain by Uther and his priestess were friends of our kingdom, especially prince Darian, but the court was surprised their death provoked such deep emotions with our King Reginald. They said it wasn't just grief. Some said he wanted vengeance."

"Vengeance for the slain dragonlords?" Arthur peeked at the wall where the wrath of dragonflames was painted in all the terrible glory these creatures had. "What relations did King Reginald have to the slain dragonlords?"

"I don't know. From what I read in Geoffrey's books, prince Darian was the only dragonlord to travel to Gedref, but those visits looked like official routine, although Reginald would always welcome him with feasts and hunting trips. Anyway, what really mattered was that Reginald started preparing for war. Harboring plans to kill the Usurper, as he would call your father. Not everybody at court was happy about it."

 _People are never happy to prepare for war_ , Arthur thought, writhing as he suddenly felt the red fish try and nibble at his skin _down there_. _And then war catches them unawares and their unhappiness often turns to grief and sorrow._

"Who precisely wasn't happy?"

"Kign's sister Nudda."

"Grandma!" Arthur smiled, remembering the fat old lady with strange sickness that was making veins on her legs turn violet and even purple. _She loved to sit in her special chair and eat berries._

"King Reginald's sister misliked the prospects of war. Small wonder. She was married to some rogue merchant, an exiled lord from Nemeth, and war's often bad for trade. Nudda had three children: Agravaine, Tristan and Ygraine. Nobody knows what exactly happened. One day King Reginald fell out of the window, or so they want us to believe. My father was meant to succeed King Reginald, but instead he was put under guard and it was the king's nephew who climbed the throne."

"Agravaine."

"Agravaine the Unlasting, as he's remembered in Gedref. The main achievement of his reign was marrying his sister Ygraine to Uther. After that marriage, the Seaside Kingdom was no more - we joined Camelot. My father was sent to the castle of Camelot to be fostered at court, and King Gedref's wife somehow fled, although nobody ever found out where to."

"You have more royal blood than me," Arthur said. _Will it help Owaine make Gedref rise, though? "_ Where's Modron?"

"Sleeping. Stewards say he got so drunk he sneaked out of his chambers to bed Lady Datharia's daughter. I call it gibberish. When Modron gets drunk, he can't lift a finger. Doubt he'd be able to lift some other parts."

"You think he will come to bid goodbye to us?"  
Surprisingly, he did. Whatever adventures Modron's night encompassed, the heir of Nemeton turned up for the farewell gathering at the gates of Nemeton that were wide open for them. Lady Pellinore had written twenty-five letters, all bearing her seal, providing safe conduct for Arthur and his twenty-four guards across Nemeton. She had written three extra letters, too: for the guards at the border with Nemeth, for the King of Nemeth, and a secret one for Arthur to present to King Rodor personally.

Arthur felt he had changed the castle life forever - the celebrations of Modron's unexpected revival would last long. _Let's hope Ryence doesn't learn about these celebrations before he allows Bors Pellinore to travel home._ _There's small chance Bors's departure from the castle of Camelot will look suspicious. After all, Bors is believed to have a wife in the castle of Nemeton who must be tearing her own hair from the grief over lost son._

"I wish you good luck and save travel, Arthur Pendragon," Lady Pellinore said, the smile on her face outshining the deep blue bruises beneath her eyes. The justice of your cause is recognized by my house, I promise to you. Once my husband returns to the castle, he will be able to raise banners without asking for the council's leave."

"I thank you for your hospitality again, my lady. And for the feast. And for raising such a brave and dutiful son," Arthur said, and he could swear he noticed Owaine grimace at Modron when he heard "brave and dutiful."

"Whatever my father decides, I shall come to Gedref as soon as possible," Modron whispered into Arthur's ear as the prince came to gift an embrace to his knight-to-be. "With banners or without."  
_Best come with banners._ Modron's breath, spiced with wine and hot on Arthur's ear, as well as the lad's curly black hair reminded of Merlin so much Arthur had to turn away quickly and to start marching and ban the visions of naked Merlin out of his mind for some time.

The circumstances of Arthur's arrival at Nemeton had made him underestimate the grandeur of the castle, the prince realized as he was walking along the stone bridge stretched between two mountains. The Lesser Mountain, as they called her, didn't serve just as an entrance to the Watching Mountain. The wide road up the Lesser Mountain ran along gentle slopes and housed many a building, villages, stables, markets, smithies - everything Arthur hadn't noticed the night he had come to the castle. At one of the stables, his party climbed horses prepared specially for them.

As the guards were checking their horses, the saddles, bridles, and the bags piled with food and waterskins, Arthur approached Owaine in the farther corner of the stables.

"Tell me about this Cailleach," Arthur was thankful enough Owaine didn't take his story for the gibberish of drunkard.

"She came to Merlin. In the forest of Brechfa. One night, I remember, he tried to fool me and tell he wasn't talking to anybody... Arthur, he's terrible at lying, how could he keep his magic secret for so long?"  
_He just didn't want to lie to you. If he wanted, you wouldn't be able to tell._

"And what did this Cailleach do to him?"

"Nothing. We would not have had Merlin if the Cailleach had done something to him. She is the Gatekeeper of the Spirit world. She usually comes for the dead."

_And who did she come for in Brechfa? Me or Merlin?_

"Last night, she told me she couldn't have me even though I belonged with the spirit world," Arthur remembered, frowning. "She said there was powerful magic courting me."

"Which means Merlin is alive," Owaine concluded with a smile. "Believe me, Arthur, he is far more capable than you give him credit for."

From the base of the Lesser Mountain, Owaine and Modron had to take their own roads. Owaine was to ride west, to the castle of Gedref through the city of Burnwood. Arthur was to travel south, to the kingdom of Nemeth through the cities of Mountville and Stoneroad. They parted on promises to meet in Gedref, and Arthur felt strange weakness in his arms when Owaine rode away, accompanied by just five guards.

Arthur's chief guard was a stout man of forty with a florid face and a walrous moustache, a man from the personal guards of Lady Pellinore who went by the name of Sir Illorn. He was the one to keep Arthur company and talk to the prince during their journey south.

They rode through the stirring city of Mountville soon enough. Its buildings were a lot shorter than in the Lower Town, seldom surpassing one storey. As a result, it had a lot more streets than the Lower Town, and those streets would sprout in all directions, lacking planning and order, often slithering and writhing like snakes. The whickers of horses from Arthur's party were the only sources of noise in the morning streets, and Arthur was happy to pay attention to what he saw. It was a lot more fun, traveling through Nemeton unbothered and unafraid, under official protection of the Lady of Nemeton herself. Gone was the need to staying well clear of towns and holdfasts. _Not that there were many towns and holdfasts in the southern Essetir._

Mountville lay at the crossing of river Gethwick and the trade road that connected the marble and iron mines of Isgaard with the merchants of Nemeth.

"There are two guilds in Nemeton," Sir Illorn told him when their horses entered the most curious of all streets, where pleasure houses were situated, with daring images on the doors and walls, the images that made Arthur's senses stir and the guards exchange those kind of jokes. "There are hunters and merchants. Hunters deal with skins, meat, berries, timber... While merchants are busy with trading marble and iron and purchasing southern grain and wine in return. We lack good fields. Forests are everywhere if you take a few steps off the road."

"If you purchase grain from Nemeth, how can you hate them so much?" Arthur tried to make his inquiry sound casual.

"We don't hate them, my lord. We remember. They hate us more. They call us spineless for submitting to the will of Ashkanar, and they call us many other things. Nemetonians do not tolerate such insults."  
_I bet Nemethians suffer no less insults in return._

The most memorable sight of the city was the bridge over Gethwick: it wasn't exactly a bridge. It was so long and so broad, with buildings rising on both sides of the bridge: shops beyond count, taverns that could house many a guest, inns for poor small folk and rich merchants alike, parlours and, to Arthur's surprise, brothels. The bridge was the only place where buildings were at least three stories tall.

"They are all here, my lord," Sir Illorn enjoyed Arthur's bewilderment. "It's where merchants reside. Lacemakers and weavers and candlemakers love to trade here. You understand the castle of Nemeton is nothing without candles, right?"

Arthur looked back to glimpse at the Watching Mountain wrapped in the walls and towers of castle of Nemeton. He then preferred to keep his look between the shops, where the broad grey ribbon of Gethwick river shimmered. _Mountville must have no less than four thousand people._

"How many villages are there in Nemeton, Sir Illorn?" Arthur asked when they got to the southern part of the bridge, where the street was barely wide enough for two carts to pass side by side.

"Villages? The official count is thirty, my lord."

_Thirty. Well, the castle of Camelot has forty-seven villages that bow to the authority of Councilor of Camelot. Good Goddess, Brechfa alone counted ninety-seven villages last year. Ryence has hundred and forty-four villages against thirty in Nemeton. What am I to do with that?_ _Any seasoned commander would've called my rebellion plan a folly. Green dreams at best._

As they strode out of Mountville to follow the trading road, Arthur smiled at the sun nesting in his hair and the wind blowing softly in his face. _Merlin is alive. This crone couldn't take me because his magic is working. Yet what if he... Best not think about it. Merlin, if only you could let me know somehow... that you're fine. Please._ Arthur wondered how long he'd have to wear the moonstone. He already felt strong, stronger than he could recall in two weeks.

By nightfall they had arrived at Stoneroad - a peculiar city on the border between the Kingdom of Camelot and the Kingdom of Nemeth. There were whole streets that were separated by the borderline, with guards of both kingdoms positioned on both sides, and long lines awaiting those wishing to cross the border - unless they were ready to accelerate passage with bribe.

"The Smuggler's city," Sir Illinor told Arthur as they passed through the gates, avoiding inspections due to the letters of Lady Pellinore. "Make no mistake, my lord, half the carpets, mirrors, blankets and lace found in the city got through the border bypassing taxes and duties. If you hope to be king, my lord, please know that the crown and the Councilor of Trade had long been blind to the problem of smugglers."

_Father did want to put all smugglers in the kingdom to sword, though. However, when lord Cynric explained to father that his campaign against smugglers would be more costly than the losses we suffered at their hands, the smugglers were left alone._

They found a good inn to spend the night at - Sir Illorn suggested crossing the border in the darkness of the night was stupid. "The night's dark, and we best sleep in the safety of the Nemeton inn, rather than risk being robbed in a Nemethian cesspool." As they were riding along the streets, Sir Illorn kept shouting "Make way! Make way for the envoys of Lady Pellinore!" even though the traffic was not too thick.

Roars of merriment greeted them as two dozen men shoved into the inn's common room. It was a rich one, with merchants and members of their household sipping wine at big round wooden table. Some people were still supping, even though the fire in the common room had burned down to embers, and the aroma of pork pies and baked apples was in the air.

Arthur refused his dinner - they had stopped three times on their way to Stoneroad, and he still felt he hadn't washed down the feast. He was escorted to special bedchambers and had two guards positioned at his door.

The room was dark and still, and would've been silent as well had it not been for the faint sighs of wind against the shutters. Arthur fell on the bed, tangling the sheet about him. He had been on the road for so long that he had forgotten what it meant - to sleep in his own bed, beneath his own sheets, with someone special nestling against him. _Merlin_. They were still to share a bed. They dared not sleep in a single bed in Camelot, for the risk of being caught was too high. _And in Hunith's house, we would sleep on the floor_. _He would nestle against me, though. I'd love to have him nestle against me every night. There's so much I can teach him in bed. He is a nimble little thing with a hungry mouth._

***

Arthur had an odd feeling. He remembered this place from somewhere, yet the more he tried to recall his last visit to this strange garden, the more it was eluding him.

 _It is a garden_ , Arthur thought, as he kept walking along the hedges besieged by flowers. _What are these? Why are there so many flowers? But they look like they are not alive. Like they are sleeping._

The whole place felt asleep when Arthur approached the center of the garden, where a massive stone table was sheltered by green hedges on many sides. Nobody else was there, and the blue sky seemed strangely desolate. _I shall call my guards. Guards._

Arthur looked around in panic. _There are no guards. There's nobody here. It's my dream. It's this crone again, this witch, the keeper of the bloody gates to the spirit world._ Arthur didn't feel ashamed for the fright that made his breathing feverish. _This is a dream. I am defenseless here._

A dream it was, but a strange one - a dream where Arthur had control over his senses, over the moves he made, and, most importantly, over the things he saw, for he could look wherever he wanted to. If I can move, I will run, Arthur thought, and run he did. Running felt so different - there was no wind, yet it seemed as though the air was resisting Arthur's flight, it seemed he was battling through masses of dense substance, slow as water. But Arthur refused to surrender, refused to subside to the laws of magic he neither understood nor had any wish to understand. All he wanted was to get out of there.

However, every time Arthur reached a spot where the hedge would make a turn left or right, he would appear back at the same place he wanted to flee - at the giant stone table and stone benches. After a couple of unsuccessfull attempts, Arthur took a seat and tried to think. _There are means to wake up. What if I try to hold my breath?_

Suddenly, he noticed the flowers blossom and shine, and before long, the hedges turned into a storm of red, blue, violet, green and yellow, and the skies were painted with rainbows, multiple rainbows, all emitting striped blissful glow.

"Arthur?"

Arthur's head jerked, and he rose to his feet, taking some steps back. He knew this voice, he would recognize it anywhere and anytime, and as he glanced at the source of this voice, his worst fears came true. _Her again. Now instead of taking the form of my father, she tries to look like Merlin. Even sound like him._ Without weapons at his disposal, Arthur was ready to fight with his bare hands.

"Arthur!" the witch shouted, approaching him. "Arthur, it's me!"

_She does sound like Merlin. Like my Merlin._

"I know who you are," Arthur assured her, betting against himself in his desire to strangle the crone. "I know what you're capable of. I've seen it!"

"Arthur?" suddenly, the pretender stopped, and Arthur watched his arms shake and his voice change to weak and... "Arthur, is that... is that really you? Like...er... you?"

 _Goddess_.

"Arthur, how did you get into my dream?"

Arthur could smell fear in his every move. _I must not show fear. Must not look weak. This is a test._

"Your  _dream_? Is that another trick you'll use to kill me?"

"Arthur, I've never tried to kill you," he saw tears float the eyes that looked just like Merlin's. "I love you."

 _His eyes do look like Merlin's. Merlin always has different colours. They change from grey and pale-satin, and seem dark when he's about to cry._ Suddenly, a flock of butterflies flew over Arthur's head, and Arthur noticed their wings had the deep crystal-blue color. _Like in the ridge of Ascetir._

"If you're Merlin, tell me one thing," he said, bracing himself. "What is the most humiliating thing I ever made you do?"

"You made me wear that awful hat with feathers! So that I looked like a court fool!"

 _He remembers. He knows._ Arthur's lips started twitching.

"And what's the best thing I ever done to you?"

"When we were together in the ridges of Ascetir, we made love and after that you told me you that you couldn't just believe that I arrived at the castle by accident. You told me I've landed in your hands because of some design.”

_The ridges of Ascetir. He is crying. He remembers. The butterfly colors. His eyes. That is Merlin._

"That's really you," Arthur whispered.

"Arthur!"

Arthur ran, and this time, the air was not resisting the moves of his body. It took mere steps and he did what he wanted to do so many times at the training field - to just seize Merlin and raise him and whirl him around and watch the most beautiful smile on his face. _You're in my arms. You're mine. A pity I can't smell you or feel the smoothness of your skin, but I can hold you in my dream. Merlin did shine with some special heat that reached the core of Arthur's being._

"Arthur..."

Arthur put him on the ground, keeping his hands on Merlin's shoulders, and smiling, after five restless days he had spent without his servant. Merlin looked pale, as pale as Modron, who grew up in the castle of caves, or even more, and Arthur could swear Merlin's cheeks were gone and cheekbones were as visible as never before.

"That's you! That's really you. Merlin."

"That's me!"

"My Merlin..."

"Arthur, what are you doing in my dream?!"

"So that's your dream," Arthur wanted to make a laugh. _It's his dream_. "Small wonder! With rainbows and flowers everywhere... Such a lovesick girl, Merlin, and..."

Merlin pulled him closer and let the kiss start without any invitation, and not that Arthur needed one: he grabbed Merlin by the waist and let himself enjoy what brought most pleasure to him: Merlin trembling in his arms, his lips - a prey to Arthur's lust.

"Arthur, how did you get here?!" Merlin, too, sounded as though he struggled to believe in what was happening.

"How do I know? Who's got magic here, you or me?" Arthur knocked on the tip of Merlin's nose with his index finger. _My curious star._

"I was just seeing dreams, I swear!"

"And I just fell asleep in the inn and turned up here!"

"You were in the inn?! What inn?!"

"On my way to Nemeth," Arthur nodded, unable to resist smiling at Merlin's exclamations and sighs. _He’s as worried as ever. He never sounds sillier than at times when he’s worried._

"Arthur, you're on the way to Nemeth!" Merlin shouted. "You're safe?"

"I hope so. I'm escorted by Nemeton's guards."

"You've reached Nemeton!"

"Yes, I've reached it, although some witch tried to kill me on the way," Arthur said, looking around to make sure the crone wasn't spying on them.

"Witch? What witch?!"

Arthur giggled at Merlin's manner of expressing his excitement. _It's all on his face._

"She didn't tell her name. She tried to take the shape of my father and…" Merlin began to shudder when he heard it. "Oh, Merlin, stop shaking, you little deer, the moonstone on my chest roasted her. I tell you I've got to Nemeton and on my way to Kingdom of Nemeth now."

"How did they receive you in Nemeton?"

"Well enough, but they won't rise for me."

"They won't?! Even though Modron is the heir of Nemeton?"

"That's precisely the point. He is the  _heir,"_ Arthur reminded him, trying to knock on the tip of Merlin's nose once more _. "_ His _father_ is the Lord of Nemeton, and Lord Pellinore is in Camelot now. The castle of Nemeton held the council and they decided they could not raise banners without Lord Pellinore's leave."

"But how are they supposed to have his leave if he's in Camelot? They must ask Modron's opinion in his absence!"

"They must naught, they are bloody lords and ladies. They obey to nobody but their lord, not his heir. Besides, I've allowed myself to say too much, but I was honest. I can't lie to people if I want them to call me king. Unlike you, it seems."

Arthur hated himself for saying this, but this could not wait any longer. _Merlin has to know. I will not pretend that everything is fine. Nothing is fine until he hears, until he lets me speak_. Suddenly, the flock of butterflies got dispersed by a gust of wind that echoed with chill and fear.

"Me?"

 _He doesn't even have the courage to admit it now, now that he knows that I know..._ Arthur knew his blood was making his muscles tensed, and he couldn't let his anger roam within him any longer. _I'm about to collapse._

"Merlin, I swear, when you get to Gedref I'm going to spank you bloody for lying to me," he said, frowning.

"Where did I lie to you?" Merlin asked innocently; he tried to grab Arthur's hand and was afraid to look in Arthur's eyes.

"You said you needed to go to Camelot because of some weapon! Said you were powerful! I know why you went to Camelot! You're dying! You're dying so that I can stay alive! I know about the sunstone and moonstone and that you put it on so that you could save me!"

Arthur was raining fury on Merlin, all the fury he got, the fury for lying mixed with the grief over the worthless death of Uther, the pain from losing three of his knights-to-be and the frustration from being a prince without a crown. The rainbows' colours went bleak and shallow, and the flowers on the green hedges were beginning to wither.

"Arthur, I..."

"Why didn't you tell me?!"

It was only after this question that Arthur was able to regain his breath.

Merlin tried to turn his look away, but Arthur grabbed him by the shoulders and insisted that they look each other in the eyes, no matter what they were afraid to discover in their depths.

"I was afraid you wouldn't approve!" Merlin cried out.

"Approve?! Merlin, you mean so much to me and yet you can't be sincere with me even when I accepted your magic! Why, Merlin, why?!"

Merlin didn't answer. Instead, he let himself cry - and not because Arthur was shouting at him, but because of a flash of remorse in his eyes. _He is crying because he knows he's to blame for not telling me the truth._ Arthur's heart was hammering in his chest when he saw this Merlin, helpless against his own tears, and looking like the loneliest creature in the wide world.

"Oh, cut it, will you?" there was no more fury in Arthur's tone. _He's mine and I will never hurt him. I am to guide him now._ Arthur pulled Merlin into an embrace and tried to run his fingers through Merlin's hair. "Merlin, you brave little deer, why d'you always have to put your life at risk for me?"

"Cause I love you. Cause I don't need to live if you're gone."

Arthur was glad Merlin couldn't see his eyes, for he wasn't sure he'd be able to vanquish his own tears. Whatever Merlin said slipped into the depth of Arthur's soul, and now he understood him, understood every move Merlin had made, every time he had put his life at risk for Arthur.

"Stop saying that" Arthur urged him, stroking Merlin's cheek. "I will die one day, Merlin, though with your help I will be a dreadful old wrinkled cabbage when it happens. You think it's easier for me to imagine the world without you? To imagine what it will be like if you don't find a way to solve this puzzle? To think of the world without you by my side?"

Arthur was happy Merlin wasn't talking; he needed time himself, he didn't want Merlin to see him cry.

"Look at you," Arthur finally whispered into Merlin's ear. "You're crying even in the dreamworld. I must not shout at you, I know, but I was furious when I found out..."

"How did you find out?" Merlin murmured.

"Owaine told me," Arthur chose not to waste time on the details of lamia story.

"Right. I told him to watch over you and to make sure you keep wearing this moonstone."

"Oh, Merlin... My little protective star. What did I do to deserve such a sweet little thing by my side? Stop crying, will you? I command you not to cry! I am your king."

"You're such a dollophead sometimes," Merlin said, laughing.

Their eyes met, and this time, there was no place for either shame or fear in their contact, only affection and an invitation for another kiss. _Or something greater._

"I did it to just protect you," Merlin added.

_And where would I be without your protection? Next to my father, in a grave._

"And without your courage, I'd be a rotting corpse already, and I appreciate your efforts, but Merlin... My mother died giving birth to me. My father died because of news about me... I don't want to lose you, I wouldn't bear. Silly little sweet overprotective magic star," Arthur pressed another kiss on Merlin's cheek, and by the content look of Merlin, he knew the kiss was suggestive enough. "Can I tickle you in the dreamworld?"

"You absolutely can't!" Merlin replied with a sly smile.

"You found a way to solve the riddle?"

"I did. I'm heading to the Perilous Land to meet the Fisher King!"

_Bloody hell!_

"Perilous Land? Merlin, that's dangerous!"

"I'm having a safer journey than you. So far, no witch tried to kill me. Although I saw Morgause and Morgana."

"What?!"

_Morgana is alive and well. I would do well to protect her from Ryence._

"In Greenswood. Morgana recognized me, but I ran away."

"And she?.."

"I don't know where she was going. Probably to the druids. She'll be safe with them. And I'm safe 'cause I'm with Lancelot."

_Lancelot? He was supposed to be with Gwaine. How did he come across Lancelot? What does Lancelot want from Merlin?_

"I don't like it. I thought you were with Gwaine?"

"Are you jealous even in the dreamworld?"

"Alright. When you come to Gedref, I will not spank you bloody. But I will do unspeakable things to you."

"Like what?" 

_Oh, I can't begin to tell you how I yearn you. I will put your mouth to better use than talking._

"I don't know. Throw you in the stocks. And have you in more ways than you dare to imagine," Arthur remembered he had fallen asleep thinking of Merlin nestling against him and things he could teach him in bed and Merlin's hungry mouth. "Goddess, Merlin, you can't imagine how I long to be with you. I'm missing you so much. Your heat and your kisses. The way you moan when I'm inside you. Damn it, Merlin, you think we can fuck in the dreamworld?"

"Arthur," Merlin giggled, but Arthur knew he'd won him. _He wants it as badly as I do._ "To think that you called _me_ a wanton..."

"You still are," Arthur let his hands grab Merlin's ass. "Merlin, I think I'll be in Gedref in a couple of days. Will you be there, waiting for me?"

"I will," Merlin nodded, and suddenly, Merlin was ablaze with strange glow - as were the sky, the rainbow and the flowers. The light was pouring into the garden. "I think we're waking up..."

_Not so soon._

"Damn it, we should've spent more time here! Merlin, I love you!"

Arthur woke up in the dark, smiling and trying to remember the taste of Merlin's lips.


	46. Foreign Land

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur crosses the border with Nemeth and arrives at Lydon, the capital of King Rodor's Kingdom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

The borderline was easy to pass. Arthur had thought that it would be a tiresome process, considering the enmity between Nemeton and Nemeth. However, Lady Pellinore's seals served them well, and Arthur saw Sir Illorn pass a fat purse to the chief of Nemeth Border Watch. _Far be it from me to judge._

The morning was damp and chilly, and the sky was crowded with huge clouds that looked like castles to him, but his heart was ablaze. _Merlin is alive and fine. He is accompanied by Lancelot. Lancelot is not the best of men, but he can fight. I taught him myself. He is traveling to Perilous Lands, he will be in the presence of sorcery, but Merlin has magic. He told me he found a way to solve the riddle._

Their ride resumed, and Arthur felt like a prince again - in the company of trusted guards and loyal servants, the men to lead him through the perils of his quest. However, his quest seemed to have run out of perils, much to Arthur's pleasure. He had never been the first one to surrender to fright, but his bravery required a foe Arthur could comprehend, a foe he could defeat with sword and shield. Neither a lamia nor the keeper of some gates was that kind of foe. _There's small wit in fighting magic with swords._

Ryence, the self-styled king of Camelot, did not have magic, and Arthur thanked the goddess for that. _Father has suffered so many attacks from warlocks and witches who wanted to avenge him for the Purge that it seems almost a miracle that he eventually fell victim to the cowardice of a feeble warlord whose glory is a dust of the past. Had the kingdom fallen to some sorcerer or sorceress..._

Ryence was the kind of foe Arthur could imagine at the battle field. _He will never grant me the pleasure of a single combat, though. Why would he? He has hosts in the castles of Brechfa, Chemary and Woodspeak. He has hundred and forty-four villages that recognize his power. Not to mention the bigger towns. By all the laws of warcraft, he's bound to win._

Arthur meant to defy the laws of warcraft, and he believed in his odds. _Ryence may have hundreds of villages, but he can raise no army that would storm the castle of Gedref. It's a castle on the rock islands in the sea. It can withstand any siege._ Arthur also remembered Goeffrey's stories about Portstown, the city by the castle of Gedref. It lay a bit far from the castle, Geoffrey would say, in the place where the rocky shore would descend into the level of the sea and become more gentle and allow the port to be constructed with long fingers of quays stretched out into the sea. Portstown had the Gedref Treasury Court and thus a ring of thick walls protected Portstown from three sides. The fourth side was guarded by the sea. _Portstown fears no siege, for it can always get food with the help of merchants. If Modron brings his father's banners to Portstown before Ryence sends his army, there would be no way for Ryence's army to storm the walls._

The prospects were a bit too hopeful, and Arthur couldn't let go of his fair share of doubts. _Even if Modron brings Nemeton men to Portstown before Ryence brings his army, what will it mean for me? Who will I be? I will be a rebel against the crown. Seated in the comfortable throne room of the castle of Gedref, yes, but no more than a rebel. Portstown will be besieged, and the other cities too far from me to command. And if I dare open the gates and take men to the open field, Ryence will destroy me with his vast numbers._

Arthur needed allies, he desperately needed lords or ladies with the numbers that could match Ryence's. It was indeed natural to turn to the Westerners for help, considering his father's aunt was the Lady of Daobeth. But Vyda was a terrible crone, with the hatred of magic that could rival that of Uther Pendragon. _And greedy past the point of sanity. I remember once she was trying to persuade father to give the castle of Asgorath and all its territories to her younger son Nentres. Father reminded her that Morgana was the closest relative to old Catigern, and his rightful heir._

Even without Asgorath, the territory of Daobeth could be a priceless ally. Located to the west of the White Mountains, it had thirty-seven villages, five towns and one castle, if Geoffrey's records could be trusted. Were Daobeth to join the rebellion against Ryence, the new king would be facing a grim picture of his own future. Daobeth was safely guarded by the White Mountains, and had only to guard the passes to make sure Ryence can’t invade the west. Three passes were there, but only one fit for an army: the Pass of Camlann. The other two were too dangerous for the soldiers to cross. _Landshire is rocks without roads where horses would break their legs. Denaria is swamps where horses would drown._

Now that Merlin meant more to him than the whole kingdom probably did, Arthur knew he would not be able to turn to Vyda Gaheris for help. _If she ever learns I am aided by a sorcerer, the whole West will demand my head._ There were other options, though, and Arthur meant to use them. Hateful as the relationship between Nemeton and Nemeth were, Arthur had seen enough to understand their trade was far past the tremulous superstitions and quarrels of the past. _If King Rodor wants the trade to avoid suffering, he will assist me and support my cause. He's too wise to watch Nemeton and Gedref set the whole south on fire of revolt. Besides, Camelot treaty with Nemeth expires in three years. If Rodor's wise, he will face no hard choice._

The south was to Arthur’s taste at first. The sun broke through clouds and the broad wheat fields were sodden with yellow light. Fallow grasslands were seen, too, and meadows with flowers, and countless villages on their way as the road was leading south in a stubborn and straightline fashion.

"They often get two or even three harvests a year in Nemeth, my lord," Sir Illorn told him. "They have fruits that never grow in Camelot. Peaches big as fists, plums as sweet as a maiden’s kiss and grapes sour as wine."

 _Lord Cynric was fond of Nemeth wine_ , Arthur remembered, _and half the court would keep an expensive bottle of purple glass to be opened on special occasion only._ Morgana once made a jape about wine. _"What good is it to be the sovereign of Camelot and all its lands and territories, if there is not a single place with decent wine?" "Do you propose invading Nemeth, Morgana?" Uther smiled at her._

He always treated her as his daughter, even though she was not more than a ward to him, kept at court for the single purpose. She was the heir of Asgorath and was meant to be married off to someone rich and influential. _Asgorath is the Pearl of the West. It has more than fifty villages, ten towns and two castles. If Morgana were to inherit such wealth, Uther would not have let her go without a husband to match the splendor of Asgorath. I must find her and tell her she will never be persecuted because of her magic. Where do I look for her, though?_

Arthur's party spent another night in a large inn at a rich town of mostly stone buildings. It was located at the crossroad of the Nemeton road which ran south and the Londinium road which ran east. Arthur didn't refuse his dinner this time; his mood had been made brighter by a brief encounter with Merlin in the dreamworld. _Would that I could make it last longer..._ Arthur accepted Sir Illorn's invitation to join his guards for dinner, and was happy to listen to their stories, to learn where they had come from, in what woods they had hunted and what creatures they had seen in the dark forests.

When most of the guards went to their beds, Sir Illorn took some time to share his bits of advice with Arthur.

"Nemeth is a land that had known as little piece as Camelot had, my lord. King Rodor is old and enjoys the company of unworthy kings. Alined the Trickster of Deorham is his western neighbor. A coward, but a dangerous one, if you ask me. He funds the Pirate Companies that would attack Nemeth Fleet and ports unless King Rodor pays him generous sums. And if Rodor dares threaten King Alined with war, King Odin the Unruly will come to Alined's rescue."

 _Odin_. A flash of remorse and a ghost of his first murder were brought out by the strong southern wine.

"Deorham could've been a prosperous land, my lord. It's the only kingdom with access both, to the Sea of Mora and to the Merchant's Bay. Nemeth's ports are all on the shore of the Sea of Mora, and Odin's kingdom is too far west. But Alined's kingdom suffers because of the king corruted by his own weaknesses."

_Will I be the king to avoid corruption by my own weaknesses?_

“So when you talk to Rodor, my lord, make some promises. Promise to solve his problem with King Alined. Your father looked like he’d put an end to Alined with the Treaty of Five Kings. See that you finish what Uther had started.”

Arthur frowned. He didn’t like to think of his father after talking to his ghost. Even if the ghost was just a show put by the Keeper of the Gates to the Spirit World, the words Uther spoke hurt like hell.

The third day of their ride proceeded under the tender sunshine and the forget-me-not blue sky, and the countless inspections by Nemeth guards and patrol parties, who would always treat twenty-five riders with caution and mistrust until presented with Lady Pellinore's letters.

On the third day, the southern grasslands, fields and meadows seemed a little dull to Arthur. Camelot, encircled by forests, by King's Wood and Darkling Wood, had an air of enigma about it, while the vast plains of Nemeth provided a view at everything that lay leagues ahead. When the brown walls behind green groves appeared on the horizon, Sir Illorn announced:

"Lodyn, the capital of Nemeth. The Garden city."

The western sky was pale-pink near the horizon, and sea-blue high above when Arthur's party approached massive high walls of Lodyn.

"Where's the castle?" Arthur asked Sir Illorn, puzzled. The walls were not so high that they could shield a castle from the curious eye.

"Lodyn has no castle. It's a city, my lord. It has two rings of walls."

"Where does king reside then?"

"Why, in his palace."

_Palace? Folly. A city without a castle is a vulnerable place. Walls can be stormed. Walls can be destroyed with the help of trebuchets. Castle is a fortress. Small wonder Rodor can't declare war on King Alined of Deorham. Alined can send an army to sack Lodyn._

Arthur and his party were immediately spotted at the Gates of Dawn.

"If King Rodor has good guards and patrols, he must've learnt of our visit already. However, he doesn't know we bring Arthur Pendragon to his gates."

They were let behind city walls quickly, escaping the long wait in an exhausting line of visitors that were hoping to make it to the city by sunset. Nothing of what Arthur saw in the beginning distinguished Lydon from the cities he had visited so far. The streets had more order to them than the cobwebs of Mountville, as many shops as there were in Stoneroad, and craftsmen quarters as numerous as in the Southern Village of Camelot. The most notables difference originated in roofing: it was mostly done in tiles, and the houses were built of stones.

"They don't permit wooden buildings, my lord. Summers are hot in Nemeth, and were the fire to start in a city with wooden houses..."

I _know. I've seen the fire of the Lower Town after Dragon's attack._

When they entered the Rose Gate in the second wall ring, Arthur understood why Lydon was called the Garden City. What he saw was the greatest beauty and the biggest folly he could ever imagine. Arthur knew that most of his father's councilors would call this a terrible waste of space, and Arthur would not argue with them. Behind the second wall ring, the streets were planned in a different fashion. The buildings were sparse and tall, and great pieces of land between buildings were filled with gardens, groves, courtyards and fountains. Some of them looked so exquisite and lavish Arthur could not believe they were located just the way they were, with any person allowed to walk these gardens freely. _Why are the statues at the fountains not stolen? Who does this wealth belong to?_

The king's palace, although never a proper castle, did tower above the rest of the city. It had thick brick walls no less than ten feet high, and when Arthur's party reached the stone bridge that led to the entrance of the enormous gatehouse, they had already been expected by no less than fifty guards from the king's watch.

"Sir Illorn," a lithe and fit man with soft brown hair rode to meet them from the gatehouse. "On behalf of King Rodor of Nememth, allow me to welcome you and your party to our kingdom." His horse stopped not far from Sir Illorn. "We have received news of your coming. Unfortunately, the hour's late for King Rodor's audience, but you are welcome to spend the night in the house of honorable guests. I do need to remind you that you can't ride past this gatehouse armed. My name is Willant."

"Disarm yourselves," Sir Illorn ordered to his guards. "I thank you for your greetings, Sir Willant."

Arthur heard the guards dismount and unfasten their sword belts. Much as he disliked the lack of a sword on his belt, he understood no king would ever allow a party of twenty-five armed guards into his palace. In the meanwhile, Sir Illorn approached Sir Willant and asked Arthur to come forward.

"I know the hour indeed might be late for King Rodor's audience, but I have reasons to believe his majesty will reconsider once he learns we've brought Arthur of House Pendragon to his city."

"Is that a jape, Sir?" Willant's eyes were bright with insolence. "Pendragons are dead."

Sir Illorn fished Lady Pellinore's letter out of his pocket and handed it to the royal guard, who broke the seal and studied the long lines; the more he read, the more his eyebrows resembled bows. He was frowning by the time he got to the end of the letter and eyed Arthur suspiciously.

"Arthur Pendragon?"

"So it is, Sir," Arthur knew there had to be a shade of arrogance to his tone to make him sound like a prince. _A prince without a crown. Styled as king by Merlin. Goddess, I can't believe I've got this far._

"Follow me, then," Willant said, doubts still easy to read on his young face.

The thick walls of King Rodor's palace were covered with ivy on the inner side. They were riding through extensive gardens with cherry trees, stone vases, marble statues and long and colorful flowerbeds. In the center of the garden there was a massive pool with lilies and a statue of a stag in its center.

Arthur and Sir Illorn were allowed into the large hall with a high dome that glowed with gold, where six guards in brown cloaks met them.

"The prince is to proceed alone, I'm afraid," Willant told Sir Illorn.

"Of course," Arthur nodded and followed the guards.

They led him out of the hall into yet another garden, the one that belonged with the inner courtyard of the palace. King Rodor was a tall thin man with purple-grey hair and heavy wrinkles on his cheeks. He was talking to someone who looked like his councilor, a powdered and primped fat man in lilac robes, accompanied by two guards. The King himself wore a green cloak edged in gold satin when he noticed the six guards escort someone into the garden and stopped by a statue of a young boy chaining a dragon.

"Your grace," Arthur said, bowing down his head. _I can't bend the knee for formally, I'm myself a king._

King Rodor was speechless and looked at his powdered councilor for some explanation, but the man looked as lost as the king himself.

"Arthur!" he mouthed in disbelief, looking as though he was about to faint. "Arthur!"

"Your grace, I thank you for the audience," Arthur said. "Your kindness means a lot to me and it shall never pass unnoticed."

"But Arthur, you... We heard... There is new king in Camelot now!" Rodor said, as though he hoped his words would turn Arthur into a mirage in the desert.

"Usurper. Ryence of House Gingawaine. He poisoned my father and tried to kill me. He succeeded in first and failed in second, as you can see."

"The gods be good," Rodor whispered and trailed off to the marble bench by the statue.

Suddenly, the king clapped his hands and his councilor and all the guards except for the two behind his back fled the garden.

The garden was full of bird's songs and thin shadows as the embers of pink sunset were burning out. Half the moon was already seen, yellow as cheese in the deep blue of the sky. Arthur followed King Rodor, but dared not take a seat or display any signs of exhaustion. _I must look as though everything is happening the way I planned._

"Your grace, it pains me to come to your palace so late and with such... disturbing news. However, Nemeth has a border with the Kingdom of Camelot, and as the rightful king of Camelot, I thought it was my duty to personally inform you."

"Inform me of what?"

"Ryence had taken the throne by murdering our rightful king, my father. Do not believe a word he has written to you. He only conrtols the Midlands, the castle of Camelot, Ascetir and the Mercian road. Both, the West and the South defy him. I command the castle of Nemeton and the castle of Gedref, both of the castles have raised banners," Arthur hated to lie, but he had a strong sense he had to lie.

"Arthur, this is... May the gods be with us, Arthur, this means war. You came to inform me of war?"

"Of that, your grace. There will be Camelot civil war, fought close to your norhtern borders. But this war will be more than just the civil war in Camelot. We know that my father had certain... obligations, according to the treaty signed between you and Uther seventeen years ago. Ryence is not the kind of man to stay true to his word, not the king to be trusted. Your grace, in the dire hour of Nemeth, seventeen years ago, my father came to your rescue and helped you defeat King Quichelm of Essetir. Now, I ask you to do the same and I promise, I will stick to my father’s course regarding King Alined and..."

"Father!"

Arthur turned to the loud shout in the garden and saw a figure running to them through lawns, a slender girl with pale skin and thick softly curling black hair. She looked young as she jumped over one of the empty benches, but there was already something womanly about her figure. She was dressed in what appeared to be some hunting jacket and had a knife belt around her waist. _She is comely._

"Father!" she landed on King Rodor's bench and pressed a kiss on his cheek. "I've missed you! You won't believe what happened, father, I've chased a stag, but that son of a bitch was a tough one, and he ran away into the forests of Nemeton where I couldn't... or, who's that?" she asked, her eyes lingering on Arthur and curiosity sparkling in them.

King Rodor coughed uncomfortably.

"Mithian, I've told you many times, you mustn't take your hunting parties that far north and stay there for so long... How many times will I have to tell you that a princess must learn to guard her tongue in the presence of our court? A proper princess..."

"Wears beautiful gowns and farts with rosewater fragrance, I know father," she laughed, making King Rodor's face turn red and Arthur chuckle. "Now whom do we have here?"

"Mithian, this is Arthur of House Pendragon, son of late Uther Pendragon."

Mithian responded with a smile and a pleasant laughter.

"Of course, father. And next time I go hunting, I'm like to find some of Ashkanar's eggs. Seriously, who is this?"

"My lady," Arthur smiled. "I am indeed Arthur Pendragon."

It took Mithian a moment to realize, most probably from her father's perplexed look, that Rodor wasn't japing.

"But you... but he is... Father, I don't understand!" Mithian shook her head. "If he is Arthur Pendragon, then how comes Camelot has a different king?"

_Would that we knew, princess. Would that we knew._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dear readers,  
> it seems to me that Chapters 47, 48 and 49 will be published tomorrow, and Volume III "Prince at Heart" will be over, and we shall switch to Volume IV "Kingdoms and courts" <3  
> Thank you for following <3
> 
> There's twitter to check for updates: 
> 
> https://twitter.com/diamond_abyss


	47. Iseldir, Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana and Alvarr are on the way to Essetir, where Morgana is to ask local clans for help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV
> 
> timeline note: Morgana departed her druid camp in the woods of Andor on the second day of Arthur's journey to Nemeth.

It happened the day Morgause attacked the castle of Camelot with her sleeping spell. The streets of the Lower Town were deserted, and so were the narrow lanes of the Southern Village. The castle halls were empty as well. The reason was not the spell of Morgause, the reason was different, but Morgana couldn't grasp it. She kept walking the lonely halls and chambers, shouting and calling for people - but there was not a soul to hear Morgana. Not a single soul – except for one.

He appeared out of the King's Wood - barefoot and crownless, his black cloak sweeping the dust of the road. Of all people, it was Uther who was not sleeping. It was Uther who heard her call and who was a step closer with every breath she took. Morgana didn't want to meet him, she felt she'd rather be freezing in snows than meeting Uther, but she couldn't understand why. What was she so afraid of? What was there about his slow walking that inspired such horror? Suddenly, she heard the doors shut - some force was locking all the ways she could use to escape from Uther.

The doors were clanging, and a sense of something irrevocably wrong and sinister began to spread across the castle. However, she could not be afraid - not in front of Uther. She would never let Uther feast on her fear _. I am strong now. I am not afraid. Not anymore._ Uther stopped at the Western Bridge and gave her a sad look. She realized something was wrong with him - it was not the Uther she remembered. This one was sad, sad from the silence that hang between them, the silence where a secret was brooded. It was the secret Uther wanted to share, but something would stop him. His expression was a study of despair, and before long, Uther started crying, and blood ran from his eyes.

Morgana woke up screaming.

She heard some noise in the darkness of her tent, and felt his fingers clutch into her skin. Alvarr seized her by her shoulders and kept shaking her, muttering her name. Only when she recognized his sour smell on her mouth did her screams stop.

"Morgana, hear me! You're fine! Fine and safe! You're with me!"

She heard heavy footsteps outside the tent.

"Alvarr?! We heard screams! What's happening?!"

The voices frightened her at first, but then she remembered Alvarr had taken two of his most trusted companions to follow them on their journey to Essetir tribes of druids. Her breath began to adjust to the calmness of the night. _I just saw a bad dream._

"Morgana saw a nightmare! She's fine!" Alvarr shouted through the dense cloth of the tent. "You're fine, aren't you? Morgana, look at me. Look. At. Me. In my eyes. You're safe. You can't be foolish enough to believe I'd let any harm befall you?"

She breathed in and pressed herself into his embrace and spent some time in his arms, helpless. In his arms, she felt more secure than behind the thickest walls of the mightiest castle. Her breathing, however, remained hysterical.

"I saw Uther," she said, feeling a teardrop escape her left eye. She shuddered, remembering the tears of blood on Uther's cheek.

"Uther's dead. This was just a nightmare," Alvarr said. 

"It didn't feel so. It felt like... like more than just a dream," Morgana whispered.

"Then what was it about?"

"I saw Uther return to Camelot."

Alvarr held her tight and pressed a soft kiss on her forehead.

"See? That's why it's just a dream. Uther can't return to Camelot. He's decaying in his grave."

 _Then why is he haunting my dreams_ , Morgana thought, refusing to leave Alvarr's arms.

"You best try and save yourself some sleep. We have a full day of ride ahead of us."

She did try to save some sleep as she and Alvarr were cuddling each other beneath the sleeping cloaks. It wasn’t working for her, although Alvarr was snoring in a couple of minutres. His ability to fall asleep in a blink of an eye seemed equal to magic to Morgana, whose own sleeping habits had been subjects to physician's special treating since her childhood. _Alvarr says that a warrior who hasn't slept enough would be weak at the battle field._

She waited for his snoring to get sonorous before she slipped from beneath the cloaks and crawled out of her tent, barefoot. The night was of velvet blackness, and the young moon had already set. Morgana found herself listening to the fields wrapped in moonless darkness, thinking about whether the peace around her should be disturbed by the tongues of fire flames.

She enjoyed the coolness of the earth beneath her feet. Wind was pressing chilly kisses to her skin, barely covered by her thin sleeping gown. Her hair looked like a bush where the birds would gladly nest, but Morgana didn't care much about it. In point of fact, she enjoyed the liberty of her new looks. Under no circumstances would she ever be allowed to dress freely at court, and when she tried to bring something new to the dull fashion paraded by the old hens and young chickens of ladies in the castle, she'd become the main subject of kitchen gossips.

Morgana smiled as she kept looking at the sky, trying to count the flickering diamonds of the stars. For the first time since escaping the depraved clutches of the castle of Camelot, Morgana was wondering whether they were talking about her in Camelot kitchens. _Does anybody in the castle even care about me now that Uther's dead? Only Gwen, I reckon. She was always caring. Unlike other servants, she was really faithful to me, it was the faithfulness that overwhelmed the lines of duty. I would've made friends with her had Uther not been watching me and all the friends I was about to make, always ready to carefully hand-pick them for me instead of letting me choose them on my own._

_Well, Ravenna was the least stupid of them all, but she had little sympathy for me, whatever the reason. Well, I had little sympathy for her, too. Her pride for being a part of House Dindrane was always ridiculous. Who else? Ewina of House Sagramore, but her wits have been lost somewhere, that's for sure. All she ever wanted was to marry a tourney champion, whoever this champion was. Poor thing. At least she never boasted off her family name, but she kept repeating her father was a Councilor of Camelot all the time. As though it made him a decent councilor. I should have been the Councilor of Camelot. I knew her people and her problems and I had a couple of ideas to solve them._

Starlight was drifting through the night, reminding Morgana that there were more pressing matters in the world than memories about all the people she couldn't make friends of. They had spent the previous day on the ride, having left the druid camp with first light. After returning from the castle of Idirsholas, Morgana reported the conditions of the fortress to Ruadan, and suggested little that could be done to turn it into a proper holdfast for five thousand swords Morgause had sworn to bring from Essetir. Alvarr had instructed his warriors about the plan to attack Jarl’s Fortress and capture his wagons, so that Morgana would have means to transport food she’d find in Essetir tribes. _If they agree to give me any food at all._

 _Morgause_. Morgana knew her sister would not be very happy if she learnt that Morgana undertook a trip to Essetir druids. _But she would understand. I had to do it. How else am I supposed to find provision for the castle of Idirsholas? I couldn't send that toothless Lochru. He is as slow as a hedgehog. Besides, if I am lucky, she will not discover it. She left for Essetir three days ago and told me not to expect her in less than a week. If my talks with the druids are successful, I can return to Idirsholas quicker than Morgause._

It wasn't only her sense of duty that sent her to Essetir. It was also the sweet opportunity to travel with Alvarr, who seemed more understanding than any of the knights or lordlings who tried to court her in Camelot. _He is fine with us holding hands for now. And it's what I need. I haven't had anybody to hold hands with in Camelot. Haven't had anybody to learn and to explore. Whenever someone appeared in Camelot, it was bed and marriage at once, that’s all they ever asked for, and how the bloody hell was I supposed to decide? By a single look at their face?_

The tent cloth made a sound behind her back, and when she turned around, she saw Alvarr crawling out.

"You scared me," he accused her. "I woke up and felt you gone."

"I just couldn't fall asleep. Thought breathing some fresh air would help."

"Why are you in the darkness? You could've started some fire."

"I didn't think it was a wise thing to do."

"It is now. Go. I love to stare in flames. One could stare in flames for hours."

Morgana smiled and felt her body captivated by the tension of the promised sensation. _Magic_. She looked at the fireplace and let her gaze get rooted into the very being of the firewood, and then she aligned her will and her body in an act that was neither physical nor mindful, and the wood was caught in flames. She sat down beside Alvarr, putting her head on his shoulder.

"Why you love fire so much?" she asked, running her fingers along the length of his arm.

"All druids love fire. Comes from our nature."

"Is it wrong that I love fire, too?"

"How can it be wrong? You're a niece of dragonlord."

"But I am also a priestess of the Isle of the Blessed now."

"So you've been told by Morgause. In truth, you can't be a priestess without initiation. Have you been initiated?"

"Not that I remember," she shrugged and let the dance of fire take over her mind.

It was indeed a beautiful sight - to watch something so raw, uncontrollable and elemental contained within a man-crafted construction. A forest fire was a terrifying force, but a cookfire was a useful ally. _Just like magic, maybe?_

"Would you feel different about me if you knew that I had been through initiation?" Morgana asked, frozen in the nervous anticipation of Alvarr's response.

"It's... it's very unlikely that you would've found me interesting if you were a priestess. A real priestess, I mean, the one that had undergone complete training."

"Why?"

"I don't know why. It must be the magic of the Isle that influences the priestess's mind. You can know better than me. Priestesses offer their bloody, flesh and bones to the Triple Goddess. In the end of the training, a High Priestess is not exactly a woman."

"Pardon?"

"Her flesh, her blood and her bones are not hers. They belong with the Goddess. With magic. All that's left to her is her will, but how free is that will? How free is it from the cult?"

"My will is strong,” Morgana assured him. “I will not let my freedom succumb to anybody or anything. No cult will ever claim my will, I promise you, Alvarr."

Still, his talks were frightening her. It was beginning to dawn upon her how irretrievable her journey to the deepest secrets of the Isle of the Blessed could be. Alvarr cleared his throat and threw more wood into the fire, letting the orange sparks rise in a whirlwind.

"Besides, legends speak only of one time when..."

"When what?"

"When a dragonlord and a priestess fell in love and trust me, it didn't end well for both of them," his tone was sad.

"Tell me about it, please. I would love to hear you tell a legend."

"Oh, it's not a legend, Morgana. There was a girl who was born in the Meredoc tribe, she was promised to the Goddess. She was destined to become a priestess. But she didn't want it and ran away. She met this dragonlord prince in the woods, and they fell in love. He introduced her to the druids, told them he’d marry her. He pleaded her to keep her origins secret, but the druids soon found out she had come from the Isle of the Blessed, and they destroyed the marriage pact and threw her out of the village and forbade her to return. She went back to the Isle of the Blessed and became a priestess, swearing an oath to avenge the druids."

"Did she keep her oath?"

"Oh, make sure she did. She served revenge as befits - when the fire of abuse had already turned to cold embers. She went to serve at the court of Virico, King of Daobeth, spending years on winning his trust."

"Why did she need his trust?"

"She knew the King of Daobeth had long been dreaming of expanding his lands eastward, into the Druid Lands, so rich and so vulnerable. The druids never had army or paid much attention to smithies. They always thought dragons were enough to keep them safe from any invasion. Dragons were in fact the only obstacle that prevented Virico of Daobeth from invading the Druid Lands. The priestess convinced Virico that the secret of dragon's death was known to her, and all she needed was Bird of Phoenix."

"Bird of Phoenix?"

"An Ancient One," Alvarr nodded. "The creature of primary magic. It was thought the bird lived in the Lands of King Branwen, the dragnolord prince our priestess had once fallen in love with. They met again at Virico’s court, and now that Branwen was king himself, he thought nothing could stop him from marrying this priestess. She agreed to marry him, demanding a living Bird of Phoenix as a betrothal gift. When she got it, she charmed the knights of Medihr to terrorize the druid lands, as she thought that the druids would send all their dragons against such a terrible force. But they only sent two, which she killed. However, four remained alive, and the weapon she had used to slaughter the dragons could only be used once. The revenge of the four surviving dragons turned the castle of Daobeth into ruins where King Virico was cooked alive. King Branwen’s land suffered decay from the curse - killing a bird of Phoenix is a grave crime against the old ways."

"But he didn't kill it…"

"He captured it and handed it to the murderer,” Alvarr shrugged. “Mayhaps his crime was not as grave as hers, and the land was not destroyed completely. Some say that King Branwen is still alive, cursed to live for eternity and watch his kingdom turn to wasteland and nothingness. The Perilous Land."

The story was indeed sad, and was hardly a good example of love between druids and priestesses. 

"Why didn't the druids allow them to marry? Things would've been so much better!" Morgana complained.

"The feud between the druids and the Isle of the Blessed runs deep."

"Why? Is it because the priestesses practice blood magic?" Morgana asked, remembering the bits of wisdom Morgause had shared with her after the Triskelion gathering.

"No. Although it does matter a little. It's a lot more... ancient. You know that when first people arrived at Albion, they possessed no magic whatsoever?"

"Then how comes we have magic now?"

"We gained it. Some tribes of men found the Lake of Avalon, where the Sidhe resided. The land of Albion was a horrid place for men at that time. It had deep lush forests where magic creatures of all kinds dwelled. All these creatures were hostile to men. And so men prayed to the Sidhe and asked them to grant them magic to help defend themselves from the creatures in the woods. The Sidhe agreed on one condition only - men had to sacrifice an innocent soul to the Lake of Avalon every year, on the day of the longest night."

"The tribe grew in size and soon there were many people living by the Lake of Avalon, practicing magic. The conflict erupted when some people in this tribe suggested to use magic to bring order to other tribes of men, tribes who knew nothing of magic and who were warring against each other. There was immediately a split. Some people in the Avalon tribe said that it was a smart idea. They advocated using magic power to make other non-magic tribes abide by their will. Magic could be a tool to bring order, they said. Others thought that magic could only serve its initial purpose, which was to defend men from the dangerous creatures in the forests. However, in the end, those who favored the use of magic to bring order into other tribes, prevailed."

"But the minority had their own plan,” Alvarr continued. “They condemned the use of magic to rule non-magic tribes. They were vastly outnumbered, and that’s why they turned to dragons for aide. Dragons were the wisest and mightiest creatures of all, creatures who could not be easily thwarted by magic. Unlike the Sidhe, dragons were mortal. The minority of Avalon tribe promised dragons immortality if the dragons agreed to serve them and abide by their will. Seven dragons agreed. So one night, men from the minority captured the Sidhe and killed him in a ritual that was meant to make seven dragons immortal and obedient to the will of seven men. That was how the dragonlords were born."

"The Sidhe were furious when they discovered what had happened. Their wrath was terrible, and many people were slain for the death of the fellow Sidhe. When it was clear that there could be no force to stop the Sidhe furry, one of the dragonlords decided to seal the gates to Avalon, sacrificing an immortal dragon and his own life for this purpose. After the gates had been sealed, the Sidhe were exiled out of the world of men forever. The remaining dragonlords commanded six great dragons and thus held formidable power, but they intended to use it only to defend themselves against dangerous creatures of the forests. After the sealing of Avalon gates, dragonlords banished the majority of Avalon tribe, making all those who had previously vowed to use magic to rule non-magic tribes flee west."

"People who got exiled from the Lake of Avalon went westward. Many have died on the way, but finally, they found a small lake in the westmost point of Landshire. It took many generations to build a castle in the center of that pool, and that's how the Isle of the Blessed was born."

"So the feud began because of views on ruling?" Morgana couldn’t believe such an issue could serve as the cause for break-up of the magic tribes.

"In essence, yes. After the majority has been banished from Avalon, people who remained there styled themselves as druids. They have been ruled by dragonlords for centuries and they have always been against magic playing part in politics. Dragons have rarely been used as weapons - they mostly remained the guarantees for peace. Druids enjoyed peace. They’d gladly enjoy it now. That’s why I don't think Iseldir will be piss happy about Morgause’s plans to start a whole war because of the ban on magic."

_Not that I am happy about it either. But it was Uther who waged war on magic first. If we don’t respond now, others like Vyda Gaheris might want to start another purge._

"Is there anything about this Iseldir you think I should know before talking to him?" Morgana asked, feeling uneasy about meeting the leader of the Essetir tribes.

"Whatever I can tell you about him will serve no purpose. He is one of the mightiest sorcerers to live. Some say he has mastered the art of twinkling."

"Of what?"

"Disappearing in one place and appearing in the other at the same moment."

"A whirlwind spell?"

"No. It's quicker than a whirlwind spell and doesn't cost such power to the warlock or witch who uses it. Don't ask me how he has mastered it, I don't know. If there is one thing you are to know about him... Well, don't play any games with him. He has a gift of seeing through people. Abandon all manners and courtesies. Speak frankly, and he will be frank in return. And try not to mention your sister's name, if possible."


	48. Iseldir, Part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana meets the leader of Essetir druid clans. 
> 
> timeline note: Morgana meets Iseldir the day Arthur arrives at Lydon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

The second day of their journey led them down weeded fields overgrown with wild grass. _These fields could have given so much harvest_ , Morgana thought. _All the harvest that could have helped us now._

After the village of Encerd, they had two roads to choose from. One ran west to the border with Camelot, to the Forest of Balor. The one they followed, however, led eastward, where wisps of thin pale mist were threaded between the thickly growing trees. Despite the thicket, there was neither gloom nor darkness about the forests, on the contrary, something made them luminous even beneath the gloomy sky.

After noon, they took a different road that ran south-east, but darted off the main road to take a narrow path that led to a small village.

"How do you know where to go?" Morgana asked curiously.

"Look," Alvarr pointed at colorful ribbons and flags in the forest by the road.

"What are they?"

"Marks," Alvarr explained, and Morgana noticed he was nervous and wary of those marks. _Why can the ribbons trouble him? "_ These marks act as a warning."

"A warning against what?"

"They are meant to let people now a shrine has been built here. A place where ancient magic has been used."

"What magic?"

"You must understand, Morgana, that even though Essetir clans are believed to have stayed out of the purge, Uther still attempted to hurt them. He tried to hurt all the druids wherever his reach lasted, and long did it last in the days of his reign. Some camps suffered terrible raids. Terrible. A lot of people were slain."

_I know. I have seen a raid led by Uther's son when Uther meant to return me to Camelot. They brought hounds against women and children._

"Some raids left places of tormented souls, souls that were so badly wronged they could find no peace into the spirit world. So druid sorcerers used ancient rituals to heal the ground so the souls of the victims can find rest. However, the magic that binds the earth is delicate and is easily undone. That's why these ribbons and flags act as warning."

To her shock, Morgana saw many druids in the villages they passed on their way. They would come to trade leather and skins, horns, berries and nuts in exchange for bread and other crops. They'd also sell bows to those willing to hunt in the forests of Balor. The rare guards of Essetir crown that were spotted on their way didn't treat druids in the villages any different than they did all the other men. _They are allowed to live free here. Or do they owe this privilege simply to Cenred's complete disregard of this part of Essetir? Would he treat druids more cautiously if he paid more attention to this part of his land?_

The evening unraveled under the dome of pale grey sky, and Morgana thought she saw the crescent of moon hanging low above the horizon. The green of darkling woods would turn to red, russet and gold sometimes, as though autumn had come two months earlier in Essetir. Before long, Morgana spotted two dozen men take archery practice near the edge of the forest.

"We have arrived," Alvarr said with a notion of relief to his tone.

The sight of bowmen inspired admiration in Morgana's eyes. It made druids look protected and safer than they ever seemed in Camelot. She didn't fear when she noticed some of the bowmen target her and Alvarr when they noticed four people ahorse approaching the edge of the forest.

"Alvarr!" one of the druids exclaimed. "We thought you were arrested! Thrown in a cell in Camelot!"

"I was," Alvarr smiled as he dismounted his horse and rushed to hug a fellow druid.

"How did you escape?!"

"This lady helped me," Alvarr said proudly, pointing at Morgana. "May I present to you Morgana of House Gorlois."

They were not ready to believe they had a niece of dragonlord as their guest, but when they realized she indeed was Morgana of House Gorlois, they looked as though they were ready to kneel before her. They had to lead their horses deep into the forest, and deeper still. Morgana was curious to see that the forest-dwellers didn't live in the tents like some savages: there were houses constructed on top of the trees. Her mouth opened in shock as she looked skyward to behold a labyrinth of rope bridges that would connect many a house somehow built on the trees. _This looks impossible._

They were not bringing her and her companions to any of those trees, though. They were brought to a mouth of the cave that looked like a simple cleft in the rock, not wide enough for two men to pass abreast. It was partly concealed by the pine tree and partly by the moss on the rock's walls. Morgana noticed fires glowing within the cave before she entered.

Inside the rock, she was led along a passage that brought them onto a space that was no less spacious than the feast hall in the castle of Camelot. There were tiny cookfires burning between stone columns, with ceilings blackened from smoke above them. The fire glow was reflected in a shallow pool where the druids would get water that looked a bit too greenish, and Morgana could hear a soft sound of underground stream rushing beneath her feet. The cave housed no more than two dozen men.

Iseldir, dressed in grey robes, was seated on a stone that looked almost like a bench: a man with slim nose, thin lips and grey curly hair. He had eyebrows that reminded Morgana of bird's wings, and heavy eyes that radiated apathy and wisdom. His seat was located afar from other dwellers of the cave.

“Morgana," he called her, not a bit surprised by her arrival which was supposed to be unexpected. _He somehow knew_. "Be welcomed and feel safe as though this place were your home.”

“Iseldir, "Morgana said, hoping it was indeed Iseldir. _Well, judging by his seat, he is in charge here_. "Or should I call you king Iseldir?”

“King?" his lips smiled, but his eyes remained mirrors with nothing there to see or guess. "None of the Druids wear a crown. Save for the Dragonlords of course.”

“Yes, the Dragonlords long gone.”

“So it may appear.”

Morgana came as close to Iseldir as she could. Nothing seemed formal about her visit: she noticed Alvarr join his friends by a cookfire, and other people busy with their dinner rather than looking at her. It made her happy and angry at the same time: she intended for her arrival to be seen by as many druids as possible.

“I would love to hear more about Dragonlords from somebody as knowledgeable as you. However, it is not Dragonlords who brought me here. I arrive out of urgent matters.”

“Then tell me, Morgana, what urgent matters make you cross leagues to seek me?”

“I wanted to ask your permission to address your people.”

This time, his laughter seemed almost sincere.

“Who told you such folly?”

“Folly?”

“Who told you that you needed my permission to address my people? To begin with, these people are not mine. They are free. Anybody could talk to them and they can talk to anybody without anyone’s permission.”

Morgana wanted to roll her eyes. _It's the protocol. I just made a protocol mistake, why bother about it at all?_

“I was led to believe... Lochru was your envoy?”

“Lochru is the man we voted most fit to be sent to the Triskelion Gathering. His purpose was to listen to other Druids and to share our opinion with them.”

“And what is your opinion, Iseldir?”

“The same it has been for a long time. We are committed to peace.”

_Just like Alvarr said. Peace. Where does he see this peace?_

“Peace. It is very honorable to be committed to peace in the time of war, when others seem to ruin peace.”

“Which war is going on, Morgana? And who is it that threatens to take peace from _you_?” despite all the softness in his tone, there was something iron-stubborn about his attitude.

“The most important war is upon us. The war for our freedom,” she said proudly.

“Freedom. Interesting. And what is freedom to you, Morgana?”

_Is this another Geoffrey to give me lessons in wisdom? Thank you kindly, my lord._

“Equality. Ability to live without fear of being persecuted for who you are. And freedom is not just for myself. I want it for all people who have magic.”

“Strange words you speak, Morgana. Didn’t you have ability to live without fear of being persecuted in the land of Andor?” Iseldir's eyes were pointing at her so intensely she had to turn her gaze away.

“Well, I did. I did have this... chance. But there’s more than _I_ in this situation, right? Andor is but one territory in Camelot. There are many others, many territories where people are not protected by magic rivers.”

“What prevented you from inviting all people who had magic to Andor? To invite them from all the other territories of Camelot?”

_How was I supposed to address them, you bloody fool? By requesting the lords' and ladies' captains and guards read my letters to them loudly at the markets?_

“This is not fair," she remembered Alvarr's warning about games with Iseldir. _I must be frank_. "People must have the right to live in any territory of Camelot and practice magic, be it Andor or Denaria, Asgorath or Brechfa. Making them abandon their homes and travel to Andor is selfish. Besides, do we have any reasons to believe this sudden defensive magic of Andor will last? If the magic falls, all people in Andor will become vulnerable to swords.”

“This is not enough to justify the horror your sister has started. Think about it, Morgana. Two months ago, you were a captive of Uther in his Castle. Uther had a grip over the entire kingdom, and people with magic were executed all over the land. Now you have a territory within the kingdom that is protected by magic of such power that no swords can harm those who take shelter behind the river Albus. Yet you neglect the opportunity to harbor those with magic in Andor, despite the fact that two months ago this was something you could not even dream of. Andor is already not enough for you, even though two months ago you had nothing. You want more.”

_Who are you to bloody lecture me? Do you have any idea about what I have been through? About the things I have seen? About what it feels like to have your only friends poison you?_

“This is not greed, Iseldir, I can assure you," the calm in her voice was harder and harder to maintain. "This is my care for all the other Druids and...”

“This is not your _care._ This is your unquenched thirst for vengeance. This is you trying to ruin the life of all those who were ruining yours. This is you trying to punish all those who remained indifferent during the Great Purge. This is you taking arms against the remnants of Uther's family. Morgana, this is a gloomy path to follow. This path can turn your heart cold, cold as stone. Don’t let your anger at Uther lead to the destruction of Camelot.”

“Uther is dead!” she screamed and saw one cookfire erupt with flames high enough to reach the ceiling. Iseldir didn't even have to raise his hands: his single look at the flames was enough to put the fire out.

“And it’s best you remember it, child. Bringing thousands of Essetir swords into Camelot to throw them at anybody who dares disagree with the lift of ban on magic is too much in Uther’s fashion.”

 _If he ever dares to compare me to Uther again, I will roast him in one of these cookfires or crash his skull against the very stone he seats._ Morgana tried to calm herself with deep inhales. _He somehow knows. He knows it all._

“It pains me to see how greatly you misinterpret my sister’s actions," she said at last. "You talk about peace yet refuse to explain how we are supposed to oppose violence in a peaceful way. You propose us to build a tiny land for Druids within Andor hoping the defensive magic that appeared as if out of nowhere will stay. The Westerners would never agree to lift the ban on magic. King Ryence would never agree to lift the ban on magic. When they attack us, Essetir swords will protect us.”

“So your sister wants you to believe.”

“Stop dragging my sister into it!” Morgana screamed again.

“You underestimate her importance and the influence she can have on you.”

“While you underestimate your own importance and the influence you can have on the state of war! If you assisted us with...”

“Enough!" Iseldir rose to his feet. "If you want to address the Druids of Essetir, feel free so to do. If there is ought else you want to ask, do it quickly.”

Morgana knew there was fire within her, fury building up in every cell of her body. _He doesn't understand. He doesn't want to understand. He's like Uther, but just the opposite. Uther would use violence on every occasion, while Iseldir refuses to even consider such an option. Uther._

“I... Dreams. Can dreams have meaning?" she asked suddenly, recalling disturbing visions of Uther in the caslte of Camelot. "Can they speak of the present or future?”

“Those with a gift of seer can always see the present and the future in their dreams. You have a strong gift of seer, so much is true, but so long as you keep wearing your healing bracelet, your gift will be distorted.”

“Why?”

“The bracelet heals you not only physically. It also protects you from mentally disturbing visions of your dreams. Sadly, the gift of seer often deals with disturbing visions, and these visions must be admitted to your dreams.”

“Thank you,” she muttered before turning away.

“Morgana!” his voice stopped her.

Iseldir approached her and tried to smile at her again.

“Please know that our disagreements have no influence on my hospitality. You are welcome here,” he said, and Morgana didn't believe it for a second.


	49. Love or Throne

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kign Rodor announces the demands Arthur must meet if he wants Nemeth to support his claim.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV 
> 
> NSFW tag and warning for this chapter :)

The next morning, Arthur was breaking his fast under the cherry tree that grew in the terrace garden. His chambers were on the third floor; King Rodor hosted Arthur in a high-ceilinged, echoing room of the grandeur that made even the prince of Camelot feel falttered. The walls were made of the rarest marble which had a pale purple colour, and the silk of his bedsheets was so tender to his skin it felt almost like kisses. He woke up with the hardest arousal and was glad the servants appeared soon, bringing a cool bath. His chambers had two doors: the main entrance from the corridor and another door which led to the terrace. Before breaking his fast, Arthur paid a visit to the house of honorable guests, where his Nemeton guards were enjoying a comfortable stay. Everything seemed serene in the palace of King Rodor, among the beautiful green gardens with flowers and fountains.

Yet in his own kingdom, things looked far from serene, Arthur was sure. His dreams were filled with visions of unrest, of sharp swords and terrible creatures in the forests, and of Modron trapped in the caves of the Watching Mountain. Towards the end of his sleep, Merlin appeared in his dreams, naked in the pool of the lower level in the Castle of Nemeton.

From the terrace on the third storie, Arthur could see the whole city of Lydon to the point of the Wall of Roses. There were wide brick streets and broad lanes, paraded by wagons and wheelhouses of rich lords and ladies, gardens and groves of lush emerald green bathed in sunlight, formidable white temples of the gods worshipped in Nemeth, granaries that indicated King Rodor was, after all, fearing the day of siege might come, and public baths. Lydon resembled the last pieces of Roman grandeur that Arthur had only heard of from Geoffrey's lessons. To see it was a different thing. _It's after all, not surprising Lydon doesn't have a castle. The Castles of Camelot and Gedref were built with sorcery by powerful dragonlords. Nobody can copy such buildings without magic. Those castles of Camelot which had been raised without magic are dreadful. "Toad Pit" of Denaria, ha, it's merely a watchtower. "Broken Tooth" of Daobeth has seen two or three towers collapse. The castle of Asgorath is mighty and strong, but it's pretty much like Lydon - it has no high towers, just a labyrinth of thick walls. The impregnable castles of Camelot all owe something to dragonlords._

When Arthur stepped onto the terrace, he found Princess Mithian seated beside a carved and gilded wooden table. There were duck eggs and sausages served for breakfast, a bottle of sweetened Nemeth wine, lime juice, a loaf of white bread and peaches. Mithian looked so beautiful Arthur was afraid he'd topple over every time he'd look at her. Dressed in a samite robe of pale-purple, a silver belt and a silver crown shaped as a trident, she didn't look like a princess that day - she looked like a goddess to Arthur.

"I'm sorry I've made you wait," he said, kissing her hand. "I needed to pay a visit to my guards."

"There is no need to apologize, my lord. The morning's bright, and I enjoyed listening to birds singing. Although the flies did try to attack your lime juice, I fear," she giggled. "I can ask servants to light some scented candles, perhaps? To drive them off."

"Thank you, your grace," Arthur took his seat. "The flies are hardly troublesome."

A sense of guilt was creeping beneath Arthur's skin. He knew Merlin was somewhere in Perilous Lands while he was breaking his fast in a terrace garden. _Well, I've met a lamia and a ghost of my father. There has to be some compensation for that, I reckon._

"My lord?"

_Blimey. I've missed the question._

"Padron, your grace. The splendor of the gardens has charmed my attention. What were you asking?"  
"I was asking if you'd had a pleasant journey," Mithian replied, pouring wine in glass goblets.

_Wine in the mourning. Welcome south._

"Most pleasant. It was, in fact, my first visit to Nemeton and Nemeth, and I've seen many things for the first time."

"What things did you find most surprising? Amusing?"

Arthur's glance slid off to notice two servants standing not far from the marble railings of the garden. _I must pick my words carefully._

"Hunting," Arthur announced, tasting wine. _Goddess. This is cherry juice and even sweeter. Goddess._ "Near the castle of Camelot and in the most parts of Brechfa, I believe, hunting is a privilege of lords, your grace. There are watch parties who patrol the woods to make sure that the hunting rights of lords are not violated. It's more a form of entertainment. In Balor and Nemeton, small folk lives through hunting. They sell skins, leather, horns, and forests are essential for their survival."

"Nemeton has the best forests," Mithian said with a content smile and added in a whisper. "Don't tell me father, but I often sneak in the forest of Nemeton and Balor when I go hunting myself. He’d lock me in chains if he learnt I’m trespassing the border of Camelot to chase stags."

"You love hunting?" Arthur was surprised to hear that.

"I do. But it's more like... a sport to me, I think. Helps get out of the city and have some freedom. The chase! It's wonderful. I admit, I'm wealthy past the point of having a need to actually kill stags and deer, so I often chase them for the sake of fun. It's sport for me! But I always allow men from my parties to claim the prey if they are skilled enough to kill it without crossbow. Crossbow is cheating."

The depth of her thought shocked Arthur. _She's right. Crossbow is cheating,_ he thought _, remembering how his patrol's stay in the forest of Brechfa turned into a nightmare of crossbows._

"Are you fond of hunting, my lord?"

"I was very fond of hunting. Until I got Merlin who's scaring all the prey."

_Sometimes he does it intentionally, I think. He kept saying hunting is an ill sport when one side has dogs and spears and crossbows and the other nothing._

"Who is Merlin?" Mithian asked with a smile. "A disobedient dog?"

Arthur chuckled and ruined his tunic with the stains of wine.

"I'm sorry, your grace."

"Arthur, I'm sorry if I said anything wrong," Mithian asked the servants to bring some cloth to help Arthur get rid of the staints.

"You didn't say anything wrong. In point of fact, you guessed the disobedient part. Merlin's my... my... my new servant."

"Why would you keep a servant who's incapable of hunting?" Mithian laughed.

"He's a good squire." _And mad with love, and loyal past the point of sanity, and gracious, and when he looks at me with my cock buried between his lips I can lose my mind. Goddess, how did it all come to pass?_

Arthur attacked both of the duck eggs and two of the sausages that were tasty, but burned his mouth. He washed it down with the lime juice.

"The city of Lydon is magnificent, your grace," Arthur tried to fill silence with some court talk.

"Oh, you think so? I always found it a bit... tiring and enormous. And it has so much space I feel none of this space is actually mine, it's like I'm always on the watch all the time. Do you understand what I mean?" she asked, raising her eyebrows to point at the servants.

_She wants to tell me something, but she wants some privacy._

"Is there any other city in Nemeth you like more?" Arthur asked and cleared his throat.

"Irios. My city. It's on the shore of the Sea of Mora. My title is actually styled as Princess of Irios. But I can't stay there in summer, for father fears pirates. Come autumn, and storms will sweep the Sea of Mora, and I shall return to Irios."

She dropped the fork and Arthur rushed to lift it off the floor; Mithian did the same, and when they were about to knock their heads, she whispered: _"Invite me to the garden. Loud."_

Arthur frowned as he watched the serving girl carry the fork away.

"Princess Mithian," he said so loudly he could probably be heard on the second storie. "The day is lovely. Wouldn't a walk in the gardens of your father be lovely? The nightfall prevented me from beholding their full beauty yesterday."

"A walk in the garden? Of course, how could I refuse such a splendid idea?"

"Your grace," a serving girl approached her. "You father..."

"Tell my ladies-in-waiting to accompany me to the Garden of Dawn at once," Mithian ignored her serving girl and rose to her feet so suddenly she made the table tremble. "My lord, would you follow me?"

They descended the stairs so fast it appeared to Arthur they were running, although the spearmen positioned in the palace paid no attention to the couple. When they stormed into the garden with a statue of a boy chaining a dragon, Mithian's expression changed to worried, and she didn't sound as courteous as on the terrace.

"My flock of hens will be after us soon. Arthur, I... Is it fine that I call you just Arthur?"

"It is," Arthur nodded, all tensed when she grabbed him by the arm.

"Arthur, I don't know what magic you've worked to come alive, but you've scared father to death. I haven't seen him that worried for a long time; the candles were burning in his room until dawn. He means to propose you tonight."

"Pardon?!"

"He wants you to marry me. He will only help you in your pursuit of Camelot throne if you agree to marry me and take me as your queen wife to the castle of Camelot when the war's done. "

Arthur wasn't shocked at Rodor's idea, he was shocked it was Mithian who was telling him about her father's plans. _Why? They seemed so friendly yesterday._

"Why are you..."

"Because you have the right to know that if you refuse... I don't know what will come to his old head if you refuse. He may go far to keep Nemeth at peace."

"But he is ready for war if I agree to marry you!"

"You don't understand, Arthur. He is ready to risk an outer war than suffer an inner one. It's not as calm as everything seems in these gardens. My father had two sons from his first wife, but they both died in the war against King Quichelm of Essetir. Yet their children survived. My father's old enough to think of succession, and when he began to plan it, the whole kingdom stirred," she was talking so fast Arthur could barely understand what she was trying to say. "I am the king's daughter from a second wife, I am his only living child and by the rights of our land I must succeed him... Yet there are many people at court who think one of King Rodor's grandsons and his son's widow have more rights for the throne."

"Remember he told me yesterday I mustn't travel north in my hunting trips and stay there for so long? I wasn't just traveling north. I tried to escape this wretched city and go to Irios. Yet it turned out there are spies even in my hunting group. Now I am trapped here, I fear, and marrying me off to you is one of the safest paths for father. If I become your wife, half the court will be glad to fund your war for Camelot throne, providing you take me away. By making me a wife of King of Camelot he sends me away and lawfully rips me off all the rights on Nemeth throne, preventing a civil war within his own kingdom."

"Is this throne important to you?" Arthur asked, all sweat and nervous breath.

"I don't care about this damned chair. I'd gladly refuse it and go to Irios, but Hadyfa, widow of King's eldest son, is convinced that so long as I am free, the throne is never secure, no matter how many papers I sign."

"What do you want from me?" Arthur asked. "Should I..."

"I don't know," Mithian's voice broke and she waved to the flock of her ladies-in-waiting who appeared out of palace doors.

The sunlight in the garden suddenly turned nauseous.

***

King Rodor welcomed Arthur comely in the grand hall of his palace, where roof was a golden dome painted with white-winged griffins. Rodor’s cooks were generous and prepared a meal worth a separate feast: honeyed lamb with sweet spices and served with oriental fruits they called figs. Nobody was invited, though, nobody except for Mithian, who had masked her nervousness so well Arthur would’ve never believed the girl was afraid of a part of her father’s own court. Guards in brown cloaks were standing close to the walls, with cherries painted on their armors.

The dinner was all empty talk, save for Arthur’s portrayal of his adventures after escaping Ryence’s assassins in the forest of Brechfa. Leaving half of what he had been through out of his story, Arthur tried to present the events in the light where even Ryence’s shadows would look disgusting.

“Sheer folly,” Rodor seemed genuinely troubled by what he had heard. “To think that Ryence would poison your father when the laws of Camelot permit a single combat…”

“A single combat can only take place between equals,” Mithian added.

“Between equals, you’re right. Any lord of a Camelot’s major territory can challenge his king. Ryence was the lord of Brechfa, he had the right to challenge Uther to a single combat. Tristan of House Du Bois challenged Uther soon after Ygraine’s death, and Uther had to respond. I’m sorry for bringing your mother’s name up, prince Arthur,” he added, noticing an uneasy look in Arthur’s eyes.

“There’s nothing to apologize for, your grace. I understand you only wanted to draw an example of known single combat between a king of Camelot and a lord of his territory, and the reasons behind this combat,” Arthur said, even though Rodor’s mention of his mother left a bitter taste in his mouth. 

“That’s so. Now, the hour is growing late. Mithian, would you please excuse me if I required some time alone with the prince? We have matters of kingdom to discuss.”

“Of course, father. I was about to ask your leave already. I want to sleep,” she stood up and came to kiss Rodor on the cheek. “Good night.”

“Good night, princess,” Rodor said and kept sipping wine until Mithian left the hall. He then clapped, and the guards followed her, with only two of them left at the door.

“Prince Arthur,” King Rodor began, sweat glistening in the creases of wrinkles on his face. “Your arrival robbed me off sleep. I spent the whole night thinking about Camelot and what part Nemeth can play in the affairs of your kingdom. Firstly, forgive me for the sudden interruption yesterday. Mithian’s return was a surprise and unfortunately, I’ll always put my daughter above the affairs of kingdom.”

“That’s wise, your grace.”

“I trust Mithian has apologized for the interrupted audience? She was supposed to do it at the breakfast.”

“She did, my lord,” Arthur said.

“A miracle she hasn’t forgotten to do it. She’s most forgetful when it comes to the protocol of the court. I trust you’ve enjoyed her company?”

“I did, your grace. We broke fast together, and she showed me to the beautiful Garden of Dawn and told me stories about your ancestors who fought bravely against the dragons of Ashkanar.”

“However, it’s our descendants that should worry us now,” Rodor said. “Prince Arthur, you will forgive me if I say that the picture of Camelot you’ve presented to me is not quite… honest?”

“Your grace?” Arthur felt the grand hall grow cold.

“Ryence of House Gingawaine hasn’t exactly _usurped_ the throne. He was elected. Lords and ladies of great houses voted for him, since Uther was believed to have left no heir. Sir Leon, Lord Accolon, Lord Vortimer, Lady Caelia, Lord Cynric, Lady Meirchion, Lord Ragnell, and, surprisingly enough, Lady Gedref of Gedref and Lord Pellinore of Nemeton, whose castles you claim have sided with your cause.”

“The castles of Gedref and Nemeton have sided with me once they found out I was alive and no wraith, but a man of flesh and blood.”

“What makes you believe Ryence would not have stepped aside if you had presented yourself to his court and demanded to justly verify your identity and prove that you were no wraith?”

“How can I expect justice from a man who murdered my father, your grace?” Arthur asked, swallowing his anger and making himself smile.

“Fair enough. Nevertheless, the truth must be tasted, however bitter. Ryence was elected king of Camelot, and has the support of most part of the court, except for those houses that are related either to House Gaheris or the descendants of the last druid queen.”

“That’s so, your grace.”

“The worst thing about your position is that Ryence controls Brechfa, where a great share of Camelot’s harvest comes from. Were a war to break out in Midlands, the kingdom would starve, your friends and foes alike. Which means that you don’t simply require an ally who can add some swords to your numbers; he must also add grain to your granaries.”

“That would be most welcome,” suddenly, Arthur felt as though he were lectured again.

“Lucky for you, Kingdom of Nemeth can provide both. We lack neither swords nor armies. However, we must ask something in return.”

“What is that you want to ask, your grace?” Arthur asked, knowing the answer.

“A marriage pact. And not the one Ryence asked of Uther after the Battle of Ashes, when your father promised to marry Yrien of House Gingawaine once she’d come of age. I don’t want a marriage pact that can be broken. I will agree to lend ten thousand swords to your cause and wagons of grain every day until the end of war if you marry my daughter in the Temple of the Hunter’s Heart.”

“Mithian?” Arthur cursed himself at not troubling to feign surprise.

“I have only one daughter,” Rodor nodded. “I can give you a night to think it over. Come dawn and…”

The images were flashing in his mind. A forsaken thicket where he woke up in the arms of a crying Merlin who had rescued him from a troll’s cave. The inn room where moonlight was gracing Merlin’s body with beautiful glow. Their ride back to Camelot, when they shared a saddle. The stars scattered all over the sky, like gemstones in the dark, and Merlin giggling in his arms and shuddering at the heat of Arthur’s breath on his neck. The empty corridor of the Summer Feast, when Arthur was raw and held Merlin a little too tight. Their kiss in the forest of Brechfa, the way Merlin kept crying in Arthur’s tent after saving his prince’s life. The sunstone and moonstone they wore.

“Your grace,” Arthur blinked and stared at Rodor, whose face suddenly grew solemn. “There’s no need to let me think until dawn. I can’t marry Mithian. I love someone else.”

“Arthur,” Rodor sounded as though he were trying to explain a complicated matter to a child. “This is not about love. You must think as though you were king. I offer salvation to your kingdom. What does this girl that you love offer you?”

“Happiness, and a chance for my kingdom’s salvation as well,” Arthur replied.

“You’re speaking of Princess Elena of Gawant, aren’t you?” Rodor sounded disappointed. “Arthur, King Godwyn was your father’s friend, but now that Uther’s gone, I doubt he will stay true to your betrothal to Princess Elena.”

“Your grace will forgive me, but this is not the matter we should be discussing. You have voiced a condition. I can’t meet your demand.”

“So more’s the pity,” Rodor sighed. “Still, if you need letters that grant you safe conduct through Nemeth, I will write them. I will also seal letters verifying your identity tomorrow.”

“That would be most welcome, your grace,” Arthur thanked the king and asked his leave to be back to his chambers.

In his room where candle light was shimmering across the purple-marbled walls, Arthur undressed and threw himself on the bedsheets. The images of Merlin would never stop. What was there about his body that made him so irresistible? _Nothing, probably. It’s about the way he behaves. About the way he makes me feel like I’m breaking all the rules of the wide world and taking some unknown path when I’m with him. When he’s on his knees._ Arthur wrapped his right hand around his cock that was hard from all the thoughts about Merlin. He loved to lie on the silky bedsheets, thinking about Merlin and feeling his own hardness grow in his hand. _Merlin_. _He’s not been on his knees properly. He asked, though. And I promised him._ He couldn’t just keep his hand on his cock; his eyes closed and started guiding his hand up and down his length slowly. Slowly. There was no need to hurry. In his head, Merlin was obedient and eager, and wouldn’t run away. _Were he in this room, I would’ve let him open his mouth wide and beg for my cock. And then watch him try and take it in his mouth, running out breath from desire. And when his lips will get tired, I will help by pushing myself all the length up his mouth. All the way._ Arthur could hear himself sigh and loved the feeling of his hand flying up and down his length, his legs tensed and his palm covered in rich precum. He didn’t want to slow down, didn’t want it to last longer. He wanted all the pleasure, here and now. _And then there will be Mithian, in her robes, she’ll have her breasts open and her and Merlin’s lips will be dancing on my cock, oh, Goddess, they both will strive to take it so deep and then…_   Arthur exploded with a heavy sigh and felt his seed rain on his neck, his chest and all over his belly; he couldn’t let his hand off his cock even when he knew there was no more seed to shoot. _Wanton. He’s my wanton. I’d never…_

He enjoyed lying and feeling his seed turn cold against his skin, and moonlight mixed with candle flames was turning fat drops into crystals. The moon was growing, a pale satin shield shaded by the night’s void. Arthur kept staring out of the window when he realized that a mirror tied to a rope was being lowered outside his chambers. _That’s what Merlin did when father married a troll. He tried to spy on lady Katrina this way._

Arthur jumped to his feet and tried to cover his nakedness, slow and dizzy after a powerful orgasm. Before long, he saw a figure descend the rope. _Mithian_.

She landed on a terrace garden and tip-toed towards the door, asking him to let her in with a gesture.

“Mithian,” Arthur whispered, spit nearly running out his mouth because of the fragrance she was carrying. “What are you…”

“Arthur, you must be quiet and quick,” she whispered. “Your refused to marry me, I suppose?”

“I did,” Arthur nodded. “But that’s not because…”

“Who cares,” she shut his mouth with her hand. “I’m here to help. You refused my father, and it’s all that matters. And now father wants to sell you to King Odin. They say he bids a high price.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that's the last Arthur POV chapter in Volume III "Prince at Heart"! We have one last chapter in this volume, "Emrys" for Morgana POV, and then we shall switch to Volume IV "Kingdoms and Courts". Thank you for following! <3


	50. Emrys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana prepares to adress Essetir clans of druids and ask for their help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

"A bleating stupid goat!"

"Morgana, calm down!" Alvarr tried to take her by the hand, but she wrested her hand from his fold. She was too angry to hold hands, almost too angry for words.

"Who does he think he is?! Some holy forest spirit sitting on his stone bench and preaching peace?! Condemning everybody who dares unsheathe a sword?!" Morgana threw a stone into an oak tree. "All we know about him is that Iseldir has been sitting in this cave since the purge, for all the good it did him, and..."

"Morgana, you're his guest, I beg you, do not speak so loudly of..."

"I will speak what I want," Morgana snapped and stormed away into darkness.

The labyrinth of rope bridges and houses on the tree trunks would not have been visible had the candles not been burning in the night. It looked so surreal Morgana was ready to believe the houses were floating in the air. _It must have taken a great effort to build such houses. They have been wasting all their efforts on constructing houses and trading with local peasants instead of bracing themselves to come back to Camelot and gain what had rightfully been theirs._

Morgana felt sick as she tried to hide herself in the thicket, farther from the mouth of Iseldir cave. She could not stand sharing a room with the leader of Essetir druid clans. _How can someone hold so much power and be so stupid? Doesn't he understand what will befall the druids if we just openly declare Andor our land and lift the magic ban? Both, Ryence and House Gaheris of the West will unite against us. Ryence will not risk losing Mercian trade road, it's too close to the river Albus where we intend to reside. Vyda has so much spite for druids I wonder how she has managed to live so long and not choke herself to death from the venom running in her veins._

_Morgause has started no horror. She has the guts to do what must be done. Druids will never know peace unless they show they can't be scared into the woods with countless hound-led raids. Vidor Gaheris has to die while in the castle of Camelot, so that his insane grandma sends all her strength against King Ryence. That's when we shall offer our helping hand to Ryence. If he is a wise man, he will accept our generous offer of five thousand swords and welcome druids into the realm, granting us rights all over Camelot and lifting magic ban. If he is as much a fool as Uther, we shall see him fight House Gaheris and slaughter whatever army that survives this stand-off. We shall restore druids to their rightful place. We have as much rights to live in Camelot as anybody else._

"You must not be wandering here alone, child. There are many perils in the forest of the night, even for those who have magic," she heard a voice and reached for her sword immediately.

The figure emerged from the dark, with a tiny fireball flickering over her palm that was raised skyward. It was a rather old woman with skin hanging low at her chin and hair as white as snow. She was wearing a shimmering blue silk that covered her face, leaving only eyes open.

"Who are you?" Morgana asked, ready to call for help.

"My name is Lacafa, child. I am the leader of the River clan."

"River clan?"

"There are many druid tribes in Esseitr, child. Tomorrow, members from most clans will hear your say."

The woman approached Morgana and brushed the fire off her palm.

"I was in the cave when I heard you talk to Iseldir. You are very brave for your age," Morgana could recognize the woman was smiling even behind the silky veil. "Not many clan leaders dare address Iseldir with such fierceness. It's good that you did it. His skinny bottom may get too comfortable on that stone, the man should be challenged from time to time. Will you walk with me, child?"

"I... I'm not sure... Alvarr will be looking for me and..."

"Let him look," Lacafa smiled, taking Morgana by the arm and inviting her to take a walk nonetheless. "Men should be looking after their women, otherwise what good do they make?"

"He's not properly... my man..." Morgana didn't like insecurity to her tone. "We are just... trying to see. I am trying to see if we can..."

"That's even better," Lacafa said encouragingly. "That's a druid way! So much better than the silly court notion of marrying before even making love, right? How are people supposed to decide whether they want to be together forever when they don't even know if they fit in bed?.."

The sense of wariness was gone. The night, however dark, didn't seem dangerous in the presence of this old woman. _I must ask her how she's able to hold a tiny fireball above her palm without burning her own skin. That's more useful that torches!_

"Do you always walk with people in the night forest?" Morgana asked carefully.

"Not always and not with all people. You're rather special. I imagine there's so much to talk about with the niece of a dragonlord. But your schedule's pretty tight. You must sleep well, for you're to talk to the clans tomorrow. And if you manage to win some of them to your side, you will ride to Jarl's fortress, to see it fall and use its carts and wagons to start delivering food to Idirsholas. You're very ambitious. And clever! Jarl would've been a pain in your arse had he been left untouched. His ruthless bandits, they're scum and..."

"How do you know all that?" Morgana felt as though the woman could read her thoughts.

"Oh, Iseldir's not the only seer in Essetir. And neither are you, child. Don't look so surprised, you know who a seer is?"

"I do. I just thought... my plans... they..."

"I can't see everything. I don't know whether Jarl's fortress will fall. But some of the actions you'll take or cause are in my sight. Others, though... The future has never been as clouded in mists of uncertainty as of late. Some call them the mists of doom. Fools."

"Mists?"

"Mists of uncertainty. Mists of doom. Mists of Avalon. Mists of Unrest. I can spend the whole night counting all the stupid names the seers have come up with for these mists, yet none is skilled enough to see past them. Some have taken great risks and traveled to the Crystal Cave in Denaria, and found out the crystals show nothing either."

"I'm afraid I don't..."

"Seers all over Albion have troubles with actually seeing future, child. You must use it to your advantage when you address the clans on the morrow. You must understand that seers haven't had that much trouble with their sight for a very long time, and that's all that has been on the druids' mind lately. They talk of ancient prophecies and Emrys as though there's nothing better to discuss and worship him and light candles in his name..."

"Morgause told me Emrys is a silly legend for druid children."

"Goddess be good, mind your tongue, child! What if he is real? You'd want to be on good terms with him, trust me. Why, I don't mind this Emrys legend turning out to be true myself. Who would mind a young and brave dragonlord, after all? Why, I might be young enough to wed him," she giggled and stopped walking when they reached a cozy clearing with a small anthill in the middle. "But their stubborn trust in the legend is dangerous. The dragon roams the sky, so much is true. The last great dragon somehow escaped the chains, and there is no sane explanation to that. Some say some gibberish about Morgause, but..."

"My sister said she never did it," Morgana sounded worried. "She said she would never free a dragon."

"Which I can understand! I tell 'em all, the prospect of Morgause rescuing the dragon is as likely as the chances of Vyda Gaheris becoming the priestess of the Old Ways. How can they be so stupid and put any shaft of hope in such an assumption? We all know they've never been fond of dragons and dragonlords on the Isle... Which makes it all the more complicated. The dragon is free, although nobody knows where he is. Some say it was seen in King's Wood three days ago, but I say people in the Lower Town remain so horrified by his attack they mistake every bloody raven in the sky for a shadow of a dragon."

"What would you have me say?" Morgana asked, curious and happy some help had come after the cold welcome from Iseldir.

"You can't ignore Emrys. The belief in the Last Dragonlord that somehow escaped the Purge is too strong among druids. We were left speechless when we learnt Balinor died a little more than a month ago. 'Cause we all thought he'd been dead for a long time! Some say he could've left a child, but after seeing the cave where he dwelled... I reckon not many ladies would like to father a child with a person residing in such a place, right?"

"Who's Balinor?" Morgana asked in bewilderment.

"One of the last dragonlords from Ashkanar line. The one who destroyed the Isle on his dragon, I thought your sister would tell you?"

"She told me nothing of Balinor."

"He disappeared soon after he'd bathed the Isle in flames. But Balinor matters not, child. What matters is that the druids think there are signs speaking of Emrys's coming. The coming of Emrys is all they talk about. And talk and talk and talk, that's all they do. Talk and hope Emrys will solve their problems. You must know it all to say the right words to them."

"I think I know the words," Morgana smiled.

"Good. I knew you would. You're a smart girl. Now let's return to the caves before this Alvarr of yours cuts the whole forest looking for you. And speak to nobody about my counsel. Iseldir has little love for me."

***

Morgana fell asleep in Alvarr's arms, covered with sleeping furs and listening to the soothing noise of the stream running beneath the stone floor of the cave. Alvarr was mad at her for disappearing in the forest, but his madness was gone as soon as she planted a daring kiss on his lips. It warmed her to know there were thouse who supported her among the Essetir clans.

Come morning, and she was the first to wake up in the cave. She washed her face in the pool of greenish water and giggled at her own reflection, with her hair looking even more bushy than she expected. _Who cares? They are not supposed to measure my look. They will measure my words._

She was invited to break her fast in the house of the Oak Clan. She had to climb an unruly ladder that led to the wooden terrace of a house built on top of two ancient oak trees, with earth-rooted columns supporting its basement. Inside she was met by a family of four in a modest kitchen. Porridge and berries and nuts were served, as well as tea brewed on herbs, so hot she burnt her tongue tasting it.

"I hope it doesn't make it hard for you to speak," the mistress of the house joked. She was a comely plump woman with long wavy brown hair and a double chin. "It's an honor to host the niece of a dragonlord in our home. My son has started taking archery lessons recently, he hopes his glory will match that of our dragonlrods one day."

Her son, a youth of fourteen, blushed, unable to take his eyes off the plate. _Does he find me comely?_ Morgana smiled.

By the time she had finished her breakfast, the wooden terraces of most houses were filled with people, and the whole little village which nested in the space between trees, as though floating above the earth, had more than two hundred men, women and children gathered to listen to Morgana's speech. _Or plea._

Men helped her descend the ladder, and led her to the broadest clearing between the trees which served as a square to this village. Morgana was standing on the ground and had to look up to count all the people that were looking down to see her. The morning was cloudy and too windy, with leaves rustling too loud in the chilly gusts; the grass beneath her bare feet seemed sharp as needles.

Morgana saw faces staring down at her, many curious looks and eyes that radiated interest. She was glad she couldn't spot Alvarr, for his presence would do much to make her nervous.

"DRUIDS OF ESSETIR! MEMBERS OF THE CLANS! DWELLERS OF THE CAVES AND FORESTS, HUNTERS AND PLOWERS! MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN ALIKE! I COME TO YOU NOT AS THE NIECE OF A DRAGONLORD, BUT AS A DRUID OF CAMELOT TO CONGRATULATE YOU ON THE DEATH OF UTHER PENDRAGON! I KNOW THAT BEING HAPPY ABOUT SOMEONE'S DEATH GOES AGAINST OUR TRADITIONS, BUT I WANT THE DEATH OF UTHER PENDRAGON TO BE A SWEET SONG TO OUR EARS! FOR UTHER IS THE ONE RESPONSIBLE FOR THE GREAT PURGE! HE IS THE MAN WHO STARTED TO HUNT US LIKE ANIMALS! HE IS THE MAN WHO SENT HIS KNIGHTS WITH SWORDS AND HOUNDS AGAINST OUR PEACEFUL CAMPS! HE IS THE MAN WHO BURNT OUT FORESTS AND DESTROYED OUR PLACES OF WORSHIP! IT IS THANKS TO HIM THAT YOU AND YOUR PARENTS AND GRANDPARENTS HAVE BEEN FORCED TO ABANDON THEIR HOMELAND AND SEEK SHELTER IN ESSETIR! IT IS THANKS TO HIM THAT WE RAISE OUR CHILDREN IN FEAR AND TELL THEM TO NEVER MENTION MAGIC IN THE PRESENCE OF STRANGERS! IT IS THANKS TO HIM THAT WE FEEL FRIGHT AT THE SIGHT OF A CLOAKED GUARD, WHOSE SOLE DUTY MUST BE TO PROTECT US! BUT NO MORE, I SAY! NO MORE SHALL WE TREMBLE AT THE SIGHT OF CLOAKED GUARDS, AND NO MORE SHALL WE FEAR FOR THE FUTURE OF OUR CHILDREN! FOR UTHER IS DEAD, AND THE PURGE IS DEAD WITH HIM! DRUIDS OF ESSETIR! THIS IS THE TIME FOR ALL THE DRUIDS TO UNITE IN OUR COMMON PUSUIT OF SAFETY AND FREEDOM! THE OMENS SPEAK ABOUT IT! THE GREAT DRAGON IS AGAIN ROAMING THE SKY, FORETELLING THE AGE OF DRUIDS! AND EMRYS IS COMING TO TAME THE DRAGON AND BECOME THE DRAGONLORD TO RESTORE THE DRUIDS TO THEIR FREEDOM AND GLORY! BUT WHILE WE WAIT FOR EMRYS, WE MUST ALSO DO OUR BEST TO PLAY OUR PART IN THE FIGHT FOR OUR FREEDOM! DRUIDS OF ESSETIR, I DO NOT URGE YOU TO GO TO WAR! NEITHER DO I ASK YOU TO RISK YOUR LIVES HELPING US IN CAMELOT! ALL I AM ASKING FOR IS THE SUPPORT YOU CAN AFFORD! OUR CASTLE NEEDS FOOD TO FEED BRAVE ESSETIR SOLDIERS WHO WILL FIGHT UTHER’S FOLLOWERS THAT WISH TO START ANOTHER PURGE! WE SHALL BE HAPPY TO ACCEPT EVERY PIECE OF GRAIN THAT YOU OFFER! WE SHALL BE HAPPY TO ACCEPT EVERY WATERSKIN! DRUIDS OF ESSETIR, I BEG YOU, DO NOT FORGET YOUR FELLOW TRIBES FROM CAMELOT IN THIS HOUR OF NEED! HELP US, AND I PROMISE YOU, THE KINGDOM OF CAMELOT WILL BE FEE OF THOSE WHO HAVE TAKEN ARMS AGAINST INNOCENT! HELP US, AND I PROMISE YOU, YOU WILL RETURN TO YOUR HOMELAND, WHERE YOU WILL BE GIVEN THE SAME RIGHTS AS ALL THE OTHER PEOPLE IN THE LAND! HELP US, AND WE SHALL MEET THE COMING OF EMRYS IN A NEW LAND, WHERE MAGIC WILL BE THE FORCE FOR GOOD CHANGES AND FOR THE BRIGHT FUTURE OF ALL OUR CHILDREN! WILL YOU ANSWER TO MY CALL?"

Morgana felt out of breath and when she stopped talking, she lowered her gaze, afraid to look at the members of the clans that had been listening to her. The silence after her speech didn’t last long: it was soon ruined by wild roars of men, cheers from women, and applause from children, and when she raised her look, she saw people raising hands. One, two, three, seven, twenty… Members of the clan were voting for her, many members, and Morgana saw Iseldir standing among the crowd, his eyes cold and piercing.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't believe Volume III is over! 
> 
> On this special occasion I want to publish chapter plan for Volume IV "Kingdoms and Courts": 
> 
> Ch. 51 "Loud Ring the Bells" - Yrien POV  
> Ch. 52 "In the Dead of the Night" - Arthur POV  
> Ch. 53 "White Prophecies" - Morgana POV  
> Ch. 54 "Magic Wand" - Merlin POV  
> Ch. 55 "Forbidden Love" - Morgana POV  
> Ch. 56 "Face to Face" - Merlin POV  
> Ch. 57 "Wretched Piece of Paper" - Yrien POV  
> Ch. 58 "Something More" - Merlin POV  
> Ch. 59 "Princess Mithian" - Arthur POV  
> Ch. 60 "High Priestess" - Morgana POV  
> Ch. 61 "Duty and Desire" - Morgana POV  
> Ch. 62 "Unthinkable" - Gwen POV  
> Ch. 63 "Crown of Tears" - Yrien POV  
> Ch. 64 "Vidor" - Gwen POV  
> Ch. 65 "A Helping Hand" - Yrien POV
> 
> I shall publish another chapter today, with the brief summary of events in Volumes I-III  
> Thank you for following <3


	51. Brief Summary of Events in Chapters One to Fifty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I just wanted to sum up the events in Volumes I-III of The Guiding Star. These is a mere listing of events without obviously describing the feeling of the characters, but that can serve as a refreshment before going into Volume IV

** The Royal Family of Camelot **

 

The troops which late Uther had assembled in Howden to oppose Cenred's invasion were led to Brechfa by King Ryence, as though to fight Cenred's army. Since the soldiers in Brechfa were no real Crenred warriors, but rather imposters that had plotted with Ryence in advance, fighting proceeded quick, and the new king of Camelot was victorious. 

After the fighting had been done, King Ryence visited his home castle of Brechfa on his way back to Camelot, where he was attended by Lord Cynric, the Royal Treasurer who helped him to poison Uther. King Ryence signed a royal decree which granted the castle of Gedref and all its villages to Lord Cynric (who paid a handsome price for it). Ryence warned Cynric that now that he had met all the conditions of their treaty, it was Cynric's turn to use his influence over the lord of the West and make them bend the knee and recognize Ryence as their rightful king.

Lord Cynric assured the king that the West will bend the knee soon, and shared his suspicions about Arthur Pendragon: the Lord Treasurer warned the king that Arthur could be assisted by some sorcerer who saved the prince's life after an assassination which was sure to leave Arthur dead.

Lord Cynric also told the king that merchants reported seeing druids crossing the Mercian trade road in vast numbers, and that king's sister, Lady Yrien, had established a day-and-night watch over Lady Dindrane, granddaughter of the last druid queen. Lady Yrien also imprisoned Gaius, who was believed to have some relation to druid behavior due to practicing magic when he the physician was young. His apprentice Gwen was also arrested, as Yrien believed Gaius's apprentice could serve as message-deliverer in Gaius's schemes. Lady Yrien also sent two parties to check where the druids were gathering and what the purpose of their gathering was. 

Prince Rion, king's nephew and heir and Lady Yrien's son, condemned his mother's cruel attitude to Gwen, who was their former servant, and threatened to turn Yrien’s life into a living hell unless his mother let Gwen go. To avoid the capture by his mother's guards, he rode away to a hunting trip.

King Ryence left his host in three castles: castle of Brechfa, castle of Chemary and castle of Woodspeak and rode back to the castle of Camelot. When King Ryence returned, he was met with great love by the small folk, who thanked him for winning war against Ryence. On the way to the castle, Ryence criticized Rion for spending so much time hunting instead of studying the ruling of the land. Before the feast that was meant to honor Ryence's victory, the king talked to his sister.

Yrien informed the king that Vidor Gaheris, a young knight, had arrived for the king's tourney as a gesture of peace from Vyda. Vidor was the grandson of Vyda Gaheris, the head the most powerful Western House, Vyda also sent a secret letter with her grandson, where she proposed to bend the knee and recognize the new king of Camelot if Ryence agreed to grant the biggest western castle of Asgorath to Vyda's younger son once Lord Catigern, the current Lord of Asgorath, died from age. Ryence agreed to those terms since he believed the castle of Asgorath to be overburdened with debts and saw no loss in passing it to Vyda's younger son.

On the day of King's Tounrey, Ryence invited Anna Dindrane to the royal lodge to watch the jousts. From Anna, the king learnt that his Secretary was planning to marry his daughter to Vidor Gaheris. However, this marriage didn't seem of interest to the king. Ryence summoned Anna to offer her a position of the royal envoy to deal with the rebellion of druids north of the Mercian trade road. The King thought Lady Dindrane was the best candidate for this job because she was the granddaughter of the last druid queen and could still have some influence over the druids who would have to welcome her and express their demands to her. Anna agreed to do so, and rode to Andor.

During the meeting of king's council the following day, the royal Secretay, unaware that Cenred's invasion had been feigned, proposed to wage a full scale war against the Kingdom of Essetir. King Ryence objected, saying that he wouldn't have enough time to raise an army large enough to defeat Cenred before the harvest season. Lord Sagramore reminded the king that Western lords and ladies had an armed and trained army of two thousand men who had been assembled on late Uther's order. Sagramore told the king that using this western army would bring victory in the war against Cenred before the harvest season, and informed the king that the Western Lords and Ladies had sworn fealty to the throne and bent their knees.

However, Ryence was reluctant to let such a big army come from behind the White Mountains and cross the Midlands during their march on Essetir. The king feared that even despite the oaths from the western lords, Vyda Gaheris could lead her army to storm the castle of Camelot after war in Essetir, or seize the fertile Midlands. He ruled out that war with Essetir needed to be postponed until the crown dealt with the druid rebellion. Meanwhile, he proposed a tax reform that was meant to reshape the financial relationship between the crown and the territories; Ryence wanted to gather less taxes from Camelot territories and enable more autonomy for the major territories.

It appears that soon after this, the Royal Tower was haunted by Uther's ghost, which shattered the health of King Ryence and prompted his sister to seek help from the imprisoned physician Gaius. Gaius refused to help at first, but once he learned that Uther's ghost also threatened Gwen, he suggested the use of Meredoc sault to protect Gwen and the residents of the Royal Tower from Uther's spirit. He gave Meredoc sault to prince Rion and let him distribute it between those who needed it. Yrien warned Gaius that she would execute him if the solution of the physician didn't work.

 

** MERLIN **

 

Merlin parted with Arthur in Ealdor, and began his journey to Camelot with Gwaine. On their way, Merlin and Gwaine saved two druids from bandits of Jarl, slavetrader from Essetir's north-west. The druids were on their way to some druid gathering north of the Mercian road, but they refused to go into details. That night, Merlin saw a weird silver glow in the forest, and discovered this glow was coming from the streams. When Merlin touched the glowing water, he saw a dream where a story of two princes unfolded: these princes were hostile against each other at first, and even hated each other to the point of a sword duel. However, during this duel, a dark-haired prince saved a fair-haired one with the help of magic, and they later came to peace.

In the morning, Merlin asked the druid girl if druid seers could see the events from the past, to which the girl replied that seers only saw future or present. The visions of the past, the girl said, were granted only to spirits and to magic crystals like that of Neahtid. Merlin realized that the silver glow in the streams was caused by spirits who for some reason had showed him the visions about two princes.

Later that day, Merlin accidentally came across Morgana in the yard of a large inn in Greenswood. When Morgana recognized him, she started to scream and called for Morgause. Merlin then turned a rope beneath Morgana's horse into a snake and ran away with Gwaine.

In Camelot, Merlin was struggling to find Gaius before learning that Gaius had not been serving as a physician for some time. Realizing that his fate depended on Gaius and that Gaius's fate could depend on him, Merlin decided to sneak into the castle through the Western Tower and find out where Gaius was kept. To his surprise, Gaius's improvised cells were established exactly in the Western Tower. After warm greetings and explanation of everything that had happened to him in Arthur's patrol, Merlin asked Gaius if the physician knew of the way to somehow influence the sunstone and moonstone magic so that Arthur would live and Merlin would not die. Gaius was clueless, but he suggested Merlin talked to Great Dragon and asked him about it. The physician also shared some of his guesswork on the reasons behind the coup with Merlin: Gaius believed King Ryence's territory Brechfa suffered most under the financial relations of Uther's reign, as Brechfa's taxes were heavily used to sustain the life of underdeveloped Camelot territories. Moreover, Ryence had been lending generous sums to Uther which Uther used to gain profit at gold and silver exchange speculations in treasury court of Asgorath. In the end of their meeting, Gaius convinced Merlin that it would be best for the physician to stay at court, since Arthur would need a trusted ally close to Camelot court in case Arthur's plans to raise Gedref and Nemeton for rebellion bore fruit.

After leaving Gaius, Merlin visited his old chambers to acquire the Sidhe staff, and the crypts of Camelot, where Gaius had hidden the books on magic and the sword of Medihr. In the crypts, Merlin overheard the conversation between Anna Dindrane and Caradol Gornemant, where Lady Dindrane was trying to persuade Caradol to marry his youngest son to the daugher of Lord Ragnell.

Merlin's intrusion into the castle hadn't passed unnoticed, and the young warlock and Gwaine had to switch their residence and relocate themselves into Gwen's house which stood empty. However, in the evening, Gwen suddenly returned after being freed by prince Rion. After initial happiness from meeting his friend, Merlin's mood soon darkened when Gwen confessed to him it was her who had poisoned Uther. Merlin let his fury rain down on Gwen, since he believed this clumsy assassination of Uther nearly caused Arthur his life. Their conflict was stopped by Lancelot, whom Gwen quickly threw out of her house.

Merlin asked Gwaine to remain in Camelot and to look after Gwen, and asked Lancelot to join him for a meeting with dragon in the King's wood. In the King's Wood, Merlin learnt that the only possible solution to the riddle of sunstone lay in the lands of the Fisher King. Merlin and Lancelot traveled to Perilous Land, where Merlin passed sunstone to the Fisher King, who chose to wear it in Merlin's stead and died after years of dreadful existence. Before meeting the Fisher King, Merlin had seen the continuation of his dream about two princes, who turned out to be Prince Darian of Druid Land and Prince Reginald of Seaside Kingdom. Merlin found out the two princes’ friendship soon turned into passion, lust and love, and that they feared being separated. This very dream soon transformed into a dream of green garden, where Merlin met Arthur and learned that the prince was on his way to Nemeth.

 

**MORGANA**

Morgana woke up in the crystal cave, where Morgause explained to her how she had saved her from Merlin's poison. She also informed Morgana that Pendragons were dead. Morgause then took Morgana to the Triskelion Gathering – a meeting of the druids north of Mercian trade road and river Albus. In Greenswood, Morgana to her utter horror met Merlin, and shrieked, calling for Morgause, since Morgana believed Merlin wanted to kill her when he had given her poison during the knights of Medihr attack. However, by the time Morgause rushed to her rescue, Merlin had long been gone.

On their way to the gathering, Morgause and Morgana learned that the river Albus served as some protecting shield against all the mortal weapons carried by those who wished to harm druids.

At the Triskelion Gathering, Morgause mocked the plans of Camelot druids led by sworn enemies of the crown Alvarr and Ruadan. Druids intended to capture the castle of Camelot while King Ryence was staging his war against Cenred imposters in Brechfa, ready to withstand a siege and hoping that Lord Accolon, King’s Councilor of War sent to bring the Western lords and ladies to Ryence’s command, would switch sides in the conflict once he discovered the castle of Camelot had been captured by druids.

Morgause told them that counting of Lord Accolon was folly. She argued that the change to follow needed to be a strong one: druids were to gain recognition by the Camelot crown and the ban of magic was to be lifted. She explained to other druid leaders that King Ryence’s position as the new king of Camelot was rather weak, since the Western lords and ladies, led by House Gaheris, had not recognized Ryence as their rightful liege. Morgause said that the troubles between King Ryence and the West had to be used by the druids. She pointed at the fact that Sir Vidor, grandson of Vyda Gaheris, was traveling to Camelot for king’s tourney. His participation in tourney was meant to be a gesture of peace from his grandmother, and Morgause said that were anything terrible to happen to Vidor during his stay at the castle of Camelot, a conflict would erupt between King Ryence and the West. The druids would then step into this conflict and offer King Ryence assistance if he agreed to recognize druids’ rights, to lift the magic ban and to marry prince Rion to Morgana. To solidify druid’s position, Morgause rode away to Essetir to ask King Cenred lend her five thousand swords. She promised that Morgana would grant him control over Mercian trade road and all its duties once she married prince Rion and became Princess of Camelot.

Before Morgause rode to Essetir, she had entrusted Alvarr with keeping watch over Morgana and protecting her. However, Morgana challenged Alvarr to a “duel” and won her right to do whatever she wanted to without Alvarr’s leave. The day after Morgause’s departure for Essetir, Morgana led a large group of the druids to the castle of Idirsholas, to inspect the building and decide whether it could house five thousand Essetir soldiers Morgause had promised to bring in two weeks. After the inspection of the castle, which included kissing Alvarr, Morgana and her druids stumbled upon a patrol of Camelot guards who had been sent to investigate the druid activity in the north by Lady Yrien. With the help of Morgana’s magic, the druids slaughtered most of the guards, taking one soldier captive.

The next day, Morgana and Alvarr started their journey to Essetir, hoping to rouse Essetir druid clans for resistance against Camelot’s new king. The main purpose of her visit to Essetir druid clans was to gather as much food as possible, since the castle of Idirsholas required a lot of provisions to be formed before Essetir soldiers arrived.

Morgana received a rather cool reception from the leader of Essetir clans, Iseldir, who, according to Alvarr, was a great sorcerer. Iseldir expressed disappointment in Morgana’s actions and tried to make her believe that the war Morgause had started was utter horror and that druids that lived behind river Albus in Andor had not exhausted all the means of peaceful cooperation or resistance before starting to bring swords into the matter. The night after Morgana held talks with Iseldir, she met Lacafa, an old woman from River clan of Essetir Druids, who told her she was impressed by Morgana’s fierceness in her conversation with Iseldir. She gave Morgana a bit of advice on what to put in her speech the following morning, and when Morgana addressed members of Essetir clans, she was met with overwhelming response and saw many people support her and ready to help.

 

**ARTHUR**

 

Arthur parted with Merlin in Ealdor and took his knights, Owaine and Modron, south. They were meant to travel across Essetir territory, avoiding Ryence’ assassins that could still be searching for Arthur in the forests of Brechfa. However, on the first night of their journey, they came across a girl begging for help and chased by a group of female hunters. Unable to resist a call for help from somebody who looked rather innocent, Arthur, Modron and Owaine decided to help her get away from Encered.

At dawn, something happened to Modron. He said that they had to abandon their initial course and spend all their efforts on bringing this girl, named Lamia, to the caves of Balor, where Modron believed her home was. Arthur could do nothing to change Modron’s mind, for Modron remained immune to common sense – not even Arthur’s mention of the fact that caves of Balor were uninhabited could make Modron alter his decision. Soon, Owaine started acting strangely, too, and the knights sent their horses into gallop, leaving no other option for Arthur than to follow his companions.

Arthur realized the reason behind his knights’ weird behavior was the magic of Lamia, but even his most daring assumptions couldn’t make him ready for the truth: Lamia was not a girl, but in fact a shapeshifting monster with cobra head and tentacles. She was a creature of dark magic that feasted on men’s lust, conflicts and bitterness – and after enjoying all that she’d kill her prey. However, she couldn’t kill Arthur, for when she attacked, the moonstone on Arthur’s chest shielded him from her tentacles and burnt her heavily, making Lamia retreat into the forest.

Later that knights, Owaine, Modron and Arthur were spotted by a Balor-Nemeton patrol that was watching the forest of Balor, looking for those who started a fire. Two men from the patrol recognized Modron, and led them to the castle of Nemeton. Modron’s arrival at the castle of Nemeton was met with great love, sympathy and initial disbelief by the castle servants and Modron’s mother, who thought Modron dead because of all reports from Camelot about the incident in the forest of Brechfa.

Arthur addressed Nemeton council, accusing King Ryence of poisoning Uther, of sending assassins to kill Arthur and his knights in the forest of Brechfa, of  spreading disgusting rumours about the corpse of Arthur breaking away from his tomb and turning into a wraith. Arthur told the council that he was the rightful king of Camelot, that he meant to make Ryence answer for all his crimes, and that he wanted to ask the territory of Nemeton to raise her banners. However, he also disclosed that he meant to seek help in the kingdom of Nemeth after his stay in Nemeton, and since Nemeton and Nemeth enjoyed long-running enmity, the council of Nemeton ruled out that no decision regarding their banners would be made before Bors Pellinore, Lord of Nemeton, returned to the castle.

The night after a feast that meant to celebrate sudden revival of Modron, heir to the lordship of Nemeton, Arthur saw the ghost of his father, who verbally attacked him for his actions before offering help if Arthur were to take him by the hand. However, Arthur smelled some treachery in the ghost’s words, and told the ghost of Uther to go away. In Uther’s stead, the Cailleach, Gatekeeper of the Spirit World, appeared to tell Arthur that the prince was not meant to survive assassination in the forest of Brechfa and that Arthur’s spirit was her by rights. However, she recognized that the moonstone magic was too powerful for the Cailleach to claim Arthur’s soul, and that’s why she cursed the moonstone, saying that Uther’s spirit would know no rest until the moonstone magic protected Arthur.

After the terrible night, Arthur rode to the kingdom of Nemeth, while Modron remained at the castle of Nemeton to wait for his father, Lord of Nemeton, and Owaine set off to Gedref, his family castle, to rouse it for open rebellion in Arthur’s names. On his way to Nemeth, Arthur and his guards stopped for a night in some inn, where Arthur met Merlin in his dream and had a chance to talk with him and learn that Merlin was on his way to the Perilous Land where he hoped to lift the sunstone magic.

Arthur’s arrival at Lydon, the capital of Nemeth, was a surprise and a shock for King Rodor, who believed that Arthur had died in the patrol mission in the forest of Brechfa. Arthur explained his intentions to King Rodor and asked for Rodor’s support in restoring Arthur’s rightful seat – in exchange Arthur promised to later help Rodor deal with King Alined of Deorham, whose pirates had been a source of trouble for Nemeth ports in the sea of Mora.

The next morning, Arthur broke fast with Mithian, King Rodor’s daughter. From her Arthur learned that kingdom of Nemeth was in a complicated situation, on the verge of a succession war. King Rodor’s sons had died in war with Essetir many years ago, but their children were alive and well, and many people at court thought that King Rodor had to pass his crown to one of his grandsons rather than to his daughter Mithian. Mithian said that Rodor had been looking for a pretext to legally strip her off succession rights for ages, and that marriage of Mithian and Arthur was the best opportunity for King Rodor to avoid a bitter conflict in his own kingdom. Those at court who opposed Mithian heirship were ready to fund Arthur’s war campaign against Ryence on the condition that Arthur would take Mithian away from Nemeth as his lady wife.

At dinner, Rodor made the proposal to Arthur, telling him that Nemeth would fully support Arthur’s claim on Camelot’s throne if he married Mithian in the Temple of the Hunter’s Heart. Arthur refused, siting his love for someone else as a reason. Rodor masked his disappointment and wished Arthur goodnight; however, Mithian appeared in Arthur’s chambers later than knight, warning him that her father had decided to sell Arthur to King Odin, who bid high price for the prince. Mithian offered her help.

 

**GWEN**

 

After being arrested, Gwen was brought to the dark cells known as dragoncells to be tortured by Lady Yrien and her personal guard Ratcatch. Yrien suspected Gwen of two things: she feared Gwen had something to do with the druid conspiracy, since she was the apprentice of Gaius, who was believed to spy for House Dindrane, and she also feared Gwen could somehow pass information about her involvement in Uther’s death to House Dindrane.

However, when all seemed lost, prince Rion stormed into dragoncells, sent Ratcatch away and made an ultimatum to his mother. He said he was riding away for hunting, and that he hoped to find Gwen safe and healthy at the day of his return. In case Gwen was killed or harmed, he threatened to turn Yrien’s life into a living hell.

Yrien had to move Gwen to the former chambers of Queen Ygraine, where Gwen resided until Rion came to apologize to her and explain to her that his mother arrested Gwen out of fear that Gwen would confess poisoning Uther during his dinner with Yrien and Rion. Rion managed to convince his mother that Gwen would never do such thing, for such confession would earn Gwen a death sentence either way. He told Gwen she was free to go, and before she did, in gratitude for saving her life, Gwen warned Rion that Arthur had not died and would seek vengeance for Uther’s murder.

When Gwen returned home, she found Merlin and Gwaine hiding there, to her shock. Her meeting with Merlin was initially full of hope and happiness, but then Gwen chose to confess that she had murdered Uther, for the burden of keeping her action secret seemed unbearable. Merlin reaction was so harsh he shouted at Gwen and stormed out of her house, taking Lancelot with him and leaving Gwaine to watch over Gwen before he returned.

On her fist morning after being released from the castle, Gwen considered to leave Camelot and go to Denaria, but Gwaine asked her to accompany him to the tourney. Soon enough, Gwen and Gwaine decided to explore the feeling that was flowing between them, and before long, they became lovers. Their peaceful life in Gwen’s house was interrupted by a visit of Uther’s ghost one night: the spirit of the dead king accused Gwen of his murder. Terrified, Gwen and Gwaine ran away to spend the night at some inn, and the next morning, Gwen sough audience with Lady Yrien: she knew only Yrien would allow her to talk to imprisoned Gaius, and Gaius was the only one to help her defend herself against a magic threat.

To Gwen’s surprise, Yrien met her with a sense of relief. The king’s sister told Gwen that now Gaius would have no option but to help them, for he would not stand and watch Uther’s spirit kill Gwen. Gwen realized Uther’s spirit haunted members of the royal family as well, and that Gaius initially refused to help the Gingawaines protect themselves against Uther’s ghost. However, when Gaius learned the ghost also threatened Gwen, he decided to help them all and lent them Meredoc sault – the only solution against ghost he possessed. Gwen heard Yrien warn Gaius that she would have his head if his solution against Uther’s ghost didn’t work. Gwen, too, took Meredoc sault home, and when Uther’s ghost attacked her in the black of the night, the circle of sault did protect her.

However, some time later, Gwen heard the bells ring, the bells that could signify only one thing: the king was dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Volume IV is promising to be the juciest one (except for Volume V, of course). It's the only volume with five point of view characters! There will be four chapters for Yrien, three chapters for Merlin, two chapters for Arthur, four chapters for Morgana and two chapters for Gwen! I can't wait to unwrap it, and it's so heartwarming to see this fic coming to a close and Arthur and Merlin closer to each other with every chapter! <3


	52. Loud Ring the Bells

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> King Ryence of Camelot is killed by Uther's ghost.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yrien POV

#  VOLUME IV

# KINGDOMS AND COURTS

 

A voice, sweettoned and sustained, called to him from the sea.

Turning the curve he waved his hand.

It called again. A sleek brown head, a seal's, far out on the water, round.

Usurper.

\- James Joyce

 

The roar of thunder filled the sky, the cry of anger and fury that seemed enough to demolish the whole castle, brick by brick. The storm was raging in the black of the night, the black interrupted by the silver flashes of lightnings that would illuminate her room for fractions of a moment. Yrien feared she would see somebody who didn't belong with her room with every new flash.

_I told him this was a terrible idea, but he wouldn't listen. All those quarrels in our house, the quarrels that must have cost me more tears than the day when they took my first son from me... Still, Ryence did what he had to do. Uther was preparing for a massive war to be fought in Essetir, and we couldn't let it happen. The kingdom hasn't known a major foreign war for years, and we knew who would pay for all the upcoming battles... Thank Goddess Cenred attacked first…. If Uther were to send Camelot army to Essetir…  Rion, Rion... I wouldn’t bear, wouldn't bear the idea that my son can die in one of the battles fought over magic in a foreign land..._

Yrien was sitting on her bed, safe behind the circle of the Meredoc salt, with a dagger from her house's armory in her left hand. A thin bedrobe was hiding her nakedness, and the fingers holding the hilt of the dagger were stiff and clumsy. She knew she wouldn't be able to cut the ghost, but she felt more secure with a weapon in her hand nonetheless.

She couldn't believe it was accidental. Uther's ghost could not just walk freely from the spirit world. It was the work of magic, and the worst thing was that she hadn't seen him. _Only Ryence and Rion saw him. Does Uther think I am innocent? Does he think I played no part in his death? I knew what Ryence wanted to do, I knew and did nothing to stop him, by all rights the ghost would've come to haunt me, too..._

Yrien understood little about magic, but she knew ghosts would not appear out of their own will. Magic would be needed, and the hand to wield it. _Whose hand though?_ _Ryence refused to believe Dindrane could be behind it, but he is blind. The old bat left the city two days ago, and there has been no news from her, even though the river Albus is so close the horsemen could reach it in less than a day... She left the city, and Uther's ghost has come to haunt us. How convenient for somebody who doesn't want to be suspected. But she was a fool to leave her granddaughters in the castle. Tawton might be a great knight, but he wouldn't be able to protect his daughters from my guards. Nobody would stand my guards. I will learn who planted and nurtured this foul fruit. And when I do..._

The shouts came from behind the door. Yrien grabbed her dagger, and sat still, all her senses consumed by the noise that was happening behind her door. The shouts were growing louder. She could hear steps up and down the stairs _. I will not be afraid. I must never show my fear. It is me they ought to fear and..._

The knock on the door, however expected, still tied a knot in her belly.

"Come in," she said in a pretensive brave tone.

The door swung open, and the guard rushed in, unaccustomed to the rules of protocol that regulated the address to the Councilor of Camelot.

"My lady, we've been attacked," he reported, visibly afraid to deliver the wicked news. "The king... The king..."

 _No_ , Yrien thought, springing to her feet. _This can't be a way Ryence will pass. He is a warrior, he has fought more battles than people can remember. He has defeated Cenred and freed our land... He... He_

"What of the prince?" she asked, belting her bedrobe and daring not to speak her fear aloud.

"The prince has been attacked as well, but the ghost failed... It couldn't make it past some shield... In the air..."

_The salt worked for Rion. This Meredoc sault protected Rion._

"What happened to the king?" she demanded, battling the desire to pull the tongue of the guard out with hot pincers. "Tell me!"

"The king is dead, my lady," the guard said, sobbing.

_We should have never come to Camelot. We should have stayed in Brechfa and helped defend the castle from Cenred. Oh, Ryence... My hero._

"Roust all the nobles out of their beds," Yrien commanded in a voice cold as ice. "And ring the bells. Ring the bells for your king."

"What am I to do with the nobles?"

 _Tell them whoever played part in this would pay_ , Yrien wanted to say, but she knew the court was a tedious matter. _I need Sagramore for legitimacy reasons. He is the Secretary and he must declare Rion the new king, and name me the Queen Regent. After that he can roll to hell on his fat belly. The Dindranes... The old bat is the granddaugter of the last druid Queen. I told Ryence sending her to deal with the druids was folly... A grave folly, maybe, since she can be the source of magic that brought back Uther’s ghost..._

"Nothing. Tell them they should expect me to pay them a visit," Yrien said, realizing she was feeling oddly calm, as though she has been ready for something like this to happen. "Find someone to escort me to my son's chambers. At once!"

The hope was still too strong in her heart, the hope that the guard had made a mistake and that everything remained as it had been the previous day. _If Ryence truly has passed_... _Our safety is under question. Everything is under question. The whole world is under question. We've become a kingdom with a green boy rather than a seasoned warrior on the throne. And queen I shall be, but merely a regent. Will the westerners keep their fealty? They have sent their seals. They must obey to Rion's will. They have sent their rings... Yet what value do the rings have in the world of swords?_

She brushed the thought about the westerners off her mind. _Vyda Gaheris can wait. I am not afraid of her. I am not afraid of anything. Only Rion... Where are the damned guards?_

The yellow cloak of Sir Logsheath, commander of the castle guards, was seen in another flash of the silver striking. The thunderous roar followed closesly, painful as though the skies were cracking.

"My lady," Sir Logsheath, a stiff bald man said, bowing his head down rather clumsily. "I have recieved orders to escort you to the prince’s chambers."

"Escort you must," Yrien nodded and followed the knight into the shadows of the tower hall. "What happened?!"

"My lady, I was guarding the entrance to the tower, as you commanded in the evening. The guards found the king, not me. They speak of ghosts, and I'd say walking into the king's chambers is still too..."

"I will not hear of danger," Yrien said, passing the spearmen in yellow cloaks and helms posted at the door of her own room. "Where is my son?"

_Would I weep if I learnt that?..._

"The prince is guarded by a dozen of men in his own room," Sir Logsheath assured her. "He is as safe as he can be, my lady."

The smoke of the violent red torches seemed twice as intense as it would've been on any other day, and her eyes soon began to water. _Good. Let them think I am weeping_. She had to lean on Sir Logsheath as they climbed the stairs, her heels scrapping against surprisingly cold stone of the floor.

There were three more guardsmen atop the steps, preventing anybody from entering the prince's room. They moved aside to let her kick the door of her son's room.

"Mother!"

Rion was seated on his bed, safe behind two circles of castle guards and three circles of Meredoc salt. Her son was dressed in mail and held a sword in his hand. _Ridiculous. Has he decided to fight Uther's ghost with a sword? What did Leon's lessons did to his head? I need to send Rion to Brechfa as soon as possible. He will do much folly in the castle._

"Leave us," Yrien commanded. "All of you. I want to speak with my son alone."

The guards' steps were heavy and echoed all over tower, but even beneath their helms, Yrien could recognize many wore the expressions suggesting they were happy to leave.

"What does it mean?" Yrien asked, her hear fluttering in her chest for the very first time since receiving the grave news.

"Mother!" Rion shouted, choking on his own excitement and fright. "Mother, he was here! In this room! He..."

"Lower your voice, son, we must not be overheard," she urged him, coming closer and running her fingers through his hair. She wanted to check him, to see that he was alright, the way she always did when he'd come home after long days of summer fun, wearing bruises and guilty smiles.

"Uther, he attacked me," Rion said in an angry whisper, with the hilt of the sword trembling in his hand. _He is afraid_. "He threw candles and torches at me, and a chair, and then he tried to grab me, but he couldn't get past the circle of salt! Mother, it was him, I saw him, I swear! It was Uther!"

_The salt worked. The physician didn't lie._

"What did you do?"

"I shouted, I shouted for the guards, but then he... He melted away, he screamed as though somebody hurt him... He melted in a flash of orange and blue light!..."

Rion's breath was coming short and fast. _The ghost came for him and for Ryence. Does Uther indeed think I am innocent?_

"You're to stay in this room under guards’ protection," Yrien announced. "You're not to leave without my special permit. Rion, they told me Ryence is dead..."

"Uncle! No!" the sword dropped from Rion's hand, bumping off the stone floor with awful steel-scratching sound.

Thunder erupted in the blackness of the night again, and the wind was howling with fierce determination, mocking helpless shutters.

"Listen, Rion," she let her hand caress his cheek and looked into his tear-besieged eyes. "This is serious. If it's true, we shall act quickly... The castle is no longer safe. I... You will learn everything, but now, you must not leave the Royal Tower. Please."

Rion nodded.

"Good. Wait for me," Yrien said, swirled on her heels and stormed out of the room.

In the corridor, the guards were talking in whispers. _Worse than the kitchen maids gossiping while cooking dinner._

"I will require a dozen guards to protect my son. The prince is not to leave your sight. Else you will lose your heads," she added, nodding at Sir Logsheath. "To my brother's chamber, now. Quickly!"

After the brief ascend of the stairs and more torchsmoke to irritate her eyes, Yrien entered the king's chambers. Ryence resided in the old chambers that used to once belong with the druid kings and queens. _Yet Uther found him nonetheless. His hands reached my brother from the grave._

There were many guards in the hall, who all shrank before her, with the visors of their helms open and their mouths offering her condolences. _Condolences. Ryence, could this be true?_

The silver light of striking was slashing through the closed windows, painting ugly shadows on the floor and the walls of the hall.

"Where is my brother?" Yrien demanded.

"He is with his chief guard in the bedchamber," the bravest man replied, not daring to step forward. "An ill thing, my lady..."

_Your grace. They should all be calling me 'your grace' if Ryence really is dead._

"Was anybody of you in his room when it... happened?" she asked, noticing people turn their looks away uncomfortably.

"No," Sir Logsheath told her. "All the guards who saw it... they are in his bedchamber, my lady."

"Then clear the hall. Guard the tower and guard the castle. The night is long and who knows what other ill things await us before dawn," she waited for the guards to start moving and gave an order that wasn't meant to be overheard. "Sir Logsheath, bring me Ratcatch, please."

The knight bowed his head down and was off to his task. Yrien pushed the door and entered her brother's room.

The guards were clustering near the hearth, their expressions, despite the difference of their faces, bearing some common ugliness, an imprint of having witnessed something terrible. There were four men, all broad-shouldered and strong, carefully picked by the king himself. _The king._

She glanced at the bed, where the body of a dead man lay. It felt as though she was looking at a stranger, so different was the death mask on Ryence's face _. This is not his face. This is not Ryence._

But it _was_ Ryence, the king of Camelot and her brother, with his hands spread far apart and blood frozen on his face and gluing his hair. _He’s head. He has been hit on the head. His hair is stiff with blood_ , she thought, afraid she would vomit from the sight alone, forgetting the smell.

"What happened here?" Yrien adressed Sir Riffsait, the king's chief guard, a tall man with one of his eyes missing.

"We heard his grace scream, my lady," he said much too calmly. "We rushed inside the room, but the door was locked. It took us a while..."

 _A while?_ Her nails were digging into her palms. _Fools. This was a bloody door. They ought to have torn it apart._

"...and when we broke into the room, we saw a...," his voice caught off.

"Saw what?!" Yrien was too infuriated for words. "Tell me!"

"We saw a man," the youngest of the four guards told her. "A man that looked like..."

"It was the dead king, my lady," another guard seemed bracing himself up to say these words. "The late one. Uther Pendragon. It was Uther, my lady. He was laughing and the bottles of wine were flying at the head of King Ryence. When Uther saw us, he... He flew past us, he flew past the walls and was gone..."

_And he went for Rion. But Rion was protected by the Meredoc salt. Why was Ryence vulnerable?_

"There's a man," Yrien said as she drew the blanket over the face of her brother, where the expression horror was frozen, now forever. "His name is Gaius, he was the court physician under Uther. Go to his chambers and escort him to the dark cells. Wait for me and for Ratcatch there. Do not speak to anybody on the way. Is that understood?"

The four guards nodded and were soon out of the room. Yrien was left alone, face to face with the silent presence of death hanging in the air. The thunder was still rocking the skies, but the lightnings came more seldom. _The storm is moving away. My storm is only beginning._

Yrien dared not throw the blanket off the dead man. Even in his age, her elder brother was still full of strength, seizing on every opportunity to wear mail and armor. _This dead flesh is not my brother. This body is soaked with fear and horror. My brother was never afraid._

She was as close to weeping as she could be, alone in the room where the death of her brother was threatening to transform into the end of her house. _Rion must be smuggled out of Camelot. Two kings have died in less than three weeks. I don't want it to be three kings. I will need to organize a hunting trip. Yes, a hunting trip after the funerals. Will say Rion needs to take his mind off the grim events... Everybody knows he loves hunting. I will make a party of our guards escort Rion to the castle of Brechfa._

_Or will I not?_

_We’ve exhausted the castle of Brechfa of most of the knights. We’ve brought them all here to replace Uther’s guards. Ninety knights. There’s hardly thirty of them left in the castle of Brechfa now. And all the chief houses sworn to Brechfa are here with me. House Melyn. House Arth. House Dwynton. House Gribs. Who’s to guard Rion if I send him to Brechfa?_

_There’s castle of Woodspeak. House Chefyl has always been loyal to House Gingawaine. Castle of Chemary is too far south, it’s too close to Isgaard mountains, and I’ve never understood how Ryence could’ve trusted such a castle to Lord Gloss._

Yrien realized her nails were so deep in her palms she could be bleeding. _Even if I manage to smuggle Rion out of this castle_ … _Rion will be king. I will be Queen Regent. He may go, but I can’t leave this castle so simply. I will need this damned castle for legitimacy reasons. If I take all my guards and all my household back to Brechfa... What will stop Vyda Gaheris from bring the western army through the pass of Camlann and taking the castle of Camelot? For all I know, the court can be full of Uther's loyalists who will race to open the gates. Oh, what shall I do?_

The knock on the door had the manner she could easily recognize.

"Enter," her voice was dry and loud.

Ratcatch appeared, escorted by Sir Logsheath.

"Sir Logsheath, wait for me outside, if you please. You will escort me to the Dindrane's chambers in a moment," Yrien said.

When she was left alone with Ratcatch, she spoke in a low but confident voice.

"You will go to the dark cells, the dragon cells. There will be four guards and a physician there. You will kill all the four guards and bring the physician to this very room and wait for me here. Is that understood?"

Ratcatch nodded and licked his lips in a disgustingly hungry manner. _He has a hunger for violence._

The Dindranes used to reside in the western tower, but they had to move to the South-Western one following the attack of the beast. It was a long way to their chambers, and Yrien was glad about it. _More time to think it through. Ryence valued the old bat, there must be a reason for it. A mistake, for example?_

But she could not think about Dindranes. As she was walking along the balconies, all she cared about was the life-inspiring scent of the summer rain and the shy glow of the deep cobalt of the sky to the east. She felt the world was mocking her, she felt the life-savoring summer rain couldn't be happening with her dead brother burried beneath his blankets in the bedchambers. _He's alone. I've left him. But I had to, I must do things first..._

She was walking through a weird castle: despite the storm that had been tearing the skies, the inner castle was calm and hushed, so hushed in fact she could have believed it was abandoned. The bells started ringing. _They should ring louder. Louder._

In the hall of south-western tower, she found Sir Tawton, the wiry black haired son of Anna Dinrane, walking nervously from corner to corner. His short and plump wife looked scared to death, cloaked in what seemed a dozen of sleeping gowns. Their daughters were nowhere to be seen. _I must not let a single Dindrane leave the castle without my permission._

"My lady," Tawton came to kiss her hand, but she denied him this courtesy, wrestling her hand in an awkward manner. "We were roused by the guards. They delivered horrible news."

"I am afraid the news is true," Yrien added, not liking the sullen face and sour breath of Tawton. "If we may speak alone..."

Tawton nodded at his wife, and she disappeared behind the door with the dozens of her sleeping gowns.

"My lady," Tawton began, but Yrien raised her hand to interrupt him.

"Find your best horseman," Yrien said in a calm yet demanding voice. "The fastest, the strongest, the most trusted. The one you can rely upon. Send him for your mother."

"My mother has been sent to hold talks with the druid rebels in..."

"I know it very well. She left two days ago and there has not been a single word from her. I don't expect her to be back so early, but she could've somehow let us know she at least reached Greenswood or located the rebel forces, _if_ there are any forces at all. Her silence doesn't inspire trust. I need to see her at court _now_ and I want her to abandon her embassage. We have more pressing matters than a bunch of druids."

"My mother is an old woman," Tawton protested. "She may not be able to move at the speed you would expect from horsemen and other patrols."

"My lord," Yrien had no intention to make their conversation last. _This is not a conversation_. "I am giving an order. Your mother is to appear at court, and if she doesn't do it in two days, then I fear for each and every one of House Dindrane."

"Is that a threat?!" Tawton flared at her, and for a moment, Yrien thought he considered attacking her. _He would've attacked me, had I not brought Sir Logsheath._

"No, it's not. You will know when I'm threatening you," she said and turned around.

Lord Sagramore was sitting on the edge of his bed, dressed in his best and looking as though he was about to attend some feast. Yrien had to breathe through her mouth to avoid the awful smell that reigned in Sagramore's bedchambers, where his daughter Ewina and his wife Rollisa were standing by the window.

"The king is dead," Yrien announced without wasting too much time on the courtesies when she entered his room. "Slain by the wraith of Arthur."

Ewina gasped in horror and Rollisa threw her arms around her daughter. Lord Sagramore sighed.

"I shall require documents," Yrien continued. "It is your duty as a Secretary to proclaim Rion the new king, and me - the Queen Regent."

_Whether you like it or not, she wanted to add._

"I expect Rion to be crowned in a week, after the mourning is over," Yrien concluded. "See to that as well."

"The mourning?" the young girl by the window repeated. "But father, will I be able to marry Vidor then?"

_Marriage? Is that a bad jape?_

"Marriages do not happen during the mourning, you are old enough to know that, sweet child," Yrien said with a poisonous smile. "But worry not, I am sure Vidor will easily wait a week, for you are such a beauty..."

When Yrien was returning to the royal tower, the night was still huddling beneath the white walls of the castle. However, a line of vivid red was seen to the east, as though a slashing blade in the cobalt sky. The storm was gone.

Gaius was waiting for her in the room of the king, visibly appalled by the presence of Ratcatch who would not take his eyes off the physician.

"My lady," Gaius said in a tired voice the instant she stepped over the threshold. "Or should I be calling you " _your grace_ " now?"

"Ratcatch, leave us," Yrien commanded and spent seconds inspecting Gaius.

The physician had washed and cut his hair to the older length, changed that awful brown dusted robes for the new grey ones, and looked like the old slouching figure she had grown accustomed to seeing in the castle.

"The king is dead," she told him.

"I understood it when the bells started ringing," Gaius nodded. "And the covered body supports my guesswork.”

"Your salt didn't work," Yrien couldn't tell the physician understood the thin ice he was treading. "The king died from the hands of Uther's ghost."

"This is not my sault," Gaius said frowning.

"What?! Not yours?! It was you who gave it, you who..."

"I gave Rion _Meredoc_ salt. The salt in this room is simple salt, not the _Meredoc_ salt."

Yrien felt the cold running up and down her spine.

"How do you know?" she asked suspiciously.

"When the door opens and closes, the wind scatters the salt across the room. The wind can't scatter Meredoc salt, for it is enchanted."

_I knew it. I felt it. There is more than magic to it. It's a conspiracy. They're..._

"How..." she was too angry for words.

"Your grace, I don't know. It was the prince who acquired the salt. I played no part in how Rion distributed it."

_Rion?! No, not Rion. This was not Rion. Rion was saved by this salt. It worked for him. Somebody replaced Meredoc salt for simple kitchen salt to kill Ryence. Who?! Who did that?! They will pay!_

"You are to examine the body and determine the reason of death," Yrien gave an order and turned away.

"And after that?" Gaius's voice was a little more nervous.

"After what?"

"After I do examine the body and do determine the cause of death?"

"We had a deal, and I am loyal to my promises," Yrien said. "Your salt saved Rion, and you will keep working in the castle. You may even bring that silly girl in your service. Need I remind you to ever guard your old tongue?"

"I remember it too well, your grace," Gaius bowed down. "May I send for my instruments?"

"Of course. Do send for them," Yriend nodded. "What chances are the ghost will come again?"

"We will only find out once the new night comes," Gaius said.

_In a week, I will make you go to the castle of Woodspeak with Rion. Who knows how many ghosts are there to attack my son? How many more magic tricks my enemies can play? In the meantime, I need to learn the names of everybody who entered Ryence's chambers yesterday. I can have them all hanged._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updates on the weekend! <3


	53. In the Dead of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prince Arthur of Camelot (King Arthur?) and princess Mithian of Nemeth escape the palace of Lydon.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

"Sell me to Odin?! Your father will sell me to Odin for refusing to marry you?!"

"Arthur, if you raise your voice again, you'll be sold quicker. Shouting will do no good now. Close the door. We don't have long."

Arthur had now words for this sort of cowardice, and the splendor of his chambers in the palace of Lydon at once turned into the hostility of the cells. _Does he intend to keep me in chains?_

"I will challenge him to a single combat," Arthur promised in a steel-forged whisper. "We shall see who sells...."

"You will do no such thing!"

Arthur could feel the hair on his nape standing up. _I will see you try and stop me, princess._

"Haven't you heard him at the dinner? Single combats are only allowed to take place between equals. My father's a king and..."

"I'm a king, too!"

"King of what?!" Mithian reminded him challengingly. "Arthur, why do you think he told you Ryence was _elected_ the new king? You hold no title here. Nobody from the court of Nemeth will recognize you unless father or Lady Hadyfa tells them to. You will not be granted single combat."

"I have guards!"

"Your guards are without weapons, have you bloody forgotten that? Father has a garrison of hundred guards in the palace. And many more guarding the Rose Wall. And even more guarding the Brown Wall. And guards patrolling the streets at night."

"You came to tell me I am a prisoner here?"

"No," compassion did flicker in her eyes. "I came to offer help if you offer help in return."

"What help can I offer?" Arthur fought to suppress a nervous laughter. _She is the most beautiful princess I have ever seen, she is in the middle of her father's palace, asking me for help. Me. The man who's to be sent to Odin. Odin. That son of a wench. He will never forgive what I did to his son._

"Is it true? What you told father about the castle of Gedref? Has it really risen for you?"

In her dark eyes, Arthur saw the reflection of himself and of some hope that was burning as thin as the candle flames. Mithian looked as though her fate rested in the answer the prince would give. _Lying is bad. But being sold to Odin is worse._

"It is true, princess. Sir Owaine, the heir of Gedref, was in the patrol mission with me, I told you. He survived and made the castle call banners."

 _Owaine, don't fail me. Don't fail me now, I beg you._ Mithian's eyes, agleam with fervor, were piercing Arthur.

"Will you take me to the castle of Gedref with you?" she asked. "If I agree to help you out, will you swear to welcome me to the castle of Gedref as your honorable guest? Will you swear to protect me from the members of the court who want me dead? Will you not betray me and sell me back to Nemeth?"

"I solemnly swear so to do. You can put trust in my word, Mithian. You will be safe in Gedref. The castle of Gedref is impregnable. Portstown has thick walls, and can only be stormed from sea."

"Sea... Well, my father's fleet rests in the Sea of Mora..." a shade of doubt crossed her face. "However, he would need to sail west, down Nemeth, Deorham and Cornwall coast past Westpoint and then turn north and sail past Cornwall and Deorham coast to reach the Merchant's Bay... Even if the winds are good, such voyage will last too long. His fleet would not reach the Merchant's bay before autumn. And autumn brings storms."

"I must warn you, though. I have many enemies in Camelot now, namely King Ryence and people in all the Midlands who believe I am a wraith. They may try and lay siege to Portstown and the castle of Gedref."

"I don't care. I can face things worse than siege in Lydon," Mithian said grimly. "Arthur, we are behind three layers of walls, guarded day and night. However, there is a way out, though not the one you might like."

"Which is?"

"Drains. The drainage system is our hope.”

“You want to swim in piss and shit to float out of town?”

“Well, you put it eloquently, Arthur,” Mithian smiled. “If that troubles you… well, I’m sure you’ll enjoy Odin more. He can make you float in blood.”

“I didn’t say I refused!” Arthur flushed. “It’s just that… it’s… My guards…”

“Arthur, you will take no guards with you, are you mad? How do you propose to bring twenty-four men from the house of noble guests into the royal kitchen?”

“And how do you see us getting into royal kitchen?”

“Why, with fire,” Mithian’s said, her eyes pointing at the candle flames.

 ***

Arthur's jaws dropped when he saw Mithian climbing the rope into the window of her bedchambers on the fourth storie. Arthur was standing in the terrace garden, struggling to believe it was real. _King Ryence. King Rodor. King Odin. King Bayard. King Alined. They are all unworthy kings, all ready to betray honor when somebody bids a handsome price. And now their ruthlessness turns me ruthless, too. I am abandoning my guards. The guards who escorted me safely to the palace of Lydon._

Mithian's silhouette disappeared in the window. _She climbs the rope better than some of the knights I've trained._

"Arthur, come on! Try not to make much noise!"

Arthur grabbed the rope and smiled, recalling the time when Merlin tried to lower him on the rope from his chambers, but the rope turned out to be too short, and Merlin - too weak to hold it. _I fell down and hit my back rather badly. And I hit Merlin after that. My magic awkward star, I will never hit you again. Although spanking is an option._

"Arthur, what are you waiting for?"

"Alright, I'm coming. Hold it tight!"

The climb was a brief yet pleasant one. His muscles yearned for some physical training, he could sense it. It seemed to him he was as strong and healthy as he had been before his ride to Brechfa patrol mission. _Moonstone is working. Merlin, if you let me live at the price of your life, I will storm the gates of the spirit world to find your little magic bottom and spank you bloody for leaving me. You heard that?_

Mithian helped him climb in. Her chambers had white walls, a lavish bed, long wooden table with papers and quills scattered over it. She didn't light candles. Mithian's chambers had a different aroma, a fragrance of some flower mixed with honey that could make a man's mouth water with lust.

"Prepare yourself," she instructed him. "Once they notice fire in your chambers, the guards will be drawn to your storie, and we may enjoy the empty corridors, if we're lucky. If not, it was a nice try."

"How long will it take us to get to Nemeton?"

"Are you insane? We're not going to Gedref through Nemeton. My father knows where you've come from. He will expect you to follow the same road back."

"Where will you have us go?"

"East, to Deorham. We will reach the coast and take ship to Portstown."

"Deorham is Alined's land. He has no more love for me than Odin," Arthur warned her, wondering how much time it would take for the candles to set bedsheet, wardrobe and curtains in his chamber on fire.

"Deorham is nobody's land. Alined never bothered ruling it. He survives on tributes the pirates pay him, and he collects a fair share of the smugglers' incomes. That's why he needs borders open, I swear, they are so easy to cross one may think there's no borderline at all. If Gods and winds are kind to us, we shall be in the castle of Portstown in five days or so."

_Five days. To add to eight days which I've spent without Merlin already. That would make it thirteen. Merlin promised to arrive to Gedref in two weeks when we parted in Gedref. No. He swore me an oath._

"You have your seal? Gold?"

"I do," Arthur nodded, clapping himself on the small bag beneath his tunic.

"Here, have a dagger. I hope you know how to use it," Mithian's dagger looked too exquisite, its hilt encrusted with tiny rubies.

The knock on the door nearly made Arthur drop the dagger. Mithian pointed at the clay vase from the table, and approached the door. Arthur grabbed the vase and came to stay close to Mithian.

"Princess!" the voice was loud. "Princess! I'm sorry for disturbing your peace, the matter's urgent! There's a fire..."

Mithian opened the door and measured the guard with an angry look.

"What is the meaning of this? At this hour?"

"Princess, there's fire downstairs, you must..."

"Fire?!" Mithian almost sounded genuine. "You must help me, sir, please, come in... "

Once the guard stepped over the threshold, Arthur smashed the clay vase against his head. The vase cracked and the water splashed on the floor; the poor fellow whispered something, turned to see Arthur, reached for his sword to experience another knock on the head from Mithian - a knock strong enough to send him to kiss the floor.

"Help me undress him, quickly," Mithian commanded, kneeling beside the fainted guard and pulling his boots and breaches down. Arthur was busy with the cloak, the helmet and the tunic. "If anybody sees you, you are my guard. From Morel family, you'd say, escorting princess to safety."

Arthur's heart sank when she realized Mithian didn't turn her look away as he pulled his own breeches down. _Would I turn my gaze away if I saw her undress?_

"Mithian, his tunic is not my size," Arthur murmured, desperate in his attempt to somehow squeeze himself into the tunic of the fallen guard. "The breeches are fine, but..."

"Who cares about bloody size!" Mithian hushed him and started putting the cloak on Arthur. "Grab the bloody helmet and the damn sword. Good. Now come, Sir Morel, escort me to the royal kitchen."

The corridors were not entirely empty as Arthur followed Mithian, struggling to keep his pace since the boots of Mithian's guards failed to match Arthur's size as well. He had an awful feeling that all the guards would know it was him, that they would recognize his face even beneath the helmet, but everybody was too busy with the hysteria around fire to pay attention to Mithian's guard. _If anything, they are looking at her more than they are looking at me._

They had to descend two staircases, and the kitchen wing was indeed more silent and dark than most of the palace rooms and corridors. Mithian kicked the door open to disturb the sleep of kitchen maids and serving boys who were entrusted with guarding the supplies.

"Out, all of you. The palace is on fire, you must hurry!" Mithian shouted.

The servants didn't take much time understanding the royal order. Mithian shut the door and led Arthur to the farthest room, where she lifted a stone from a mouth of the well.

"What's this?" Arthur asked as the awful stench of charred meat mixed with rotten vegetables and spoiled water shot his nose.

"Rubbish well," Mithian announced. "We jump."

Before Arthur could mutter a word, he saw Mithian disappear in the blackness of the well, and a soft clap echoing all over its moss-covered walls.

"I've landed!" Mithian's voice cried from the darkness. "It's all rubbish! I mean, it's rubbish here! Wait for my signal. Wait! Now come, quickly!"

Arthur cursed himself for having less bravery than a _princess_. The idea of blindingly jumping down some rubbish well, however broad, was terrifying; he imagined spears and swords and sharp rocks that await him at the bottom. Then he imagined Odin feeding him to some of his hunting hounds, stepped on the edge of the well, and jumped.

The flight lasted less than a moment, it seemed, but Arthur could swear he had remembered all his life in a span of that single moment. From playing with wooden swords in training field and his first horse ride to fighting in battle for the first time and riding to meet a dragon. He landed on a soft pile of rubbish, into the rotten mud of spoiled food. The stench was worse that the privy room.

The dark room was flooded, with water reaching above Arthur’s ankles.

“It’s supposed to be carrying the rubbish away to one of the canals,” Mithian explained. “This canal meets other drainage canals, I’ve studied the maps. You follow me.”

They had no lantern, nothing to guide their way, but Arthur still had to keep up with Mithian, who moved surprisingly fast in the darkness, and didn’t seem to be troubled with the awful smell that could make people faint. The farther they walked, the steeper the incline of the tunnel was, and before long, Arthur and Mithian had to slide down the rubbish and shit-filled floor on their bottoms. Mithian shrieked when she noticed rats, and Arthur had to take her by the arm to calm her down.

The decline ended in a deeper canal. It felt like traveling down the gullet of some terrible monster that had problems with digestion. The gullet took a twist, and another one, and then Arthur saw the bars.

“I have the keys,” Mithian’s words saved the whole world to him. 

She unlocked the gates of heavy iron bars, and they kept walking in the grisly tunnel filled with rubbish and privy content; water levels were rising.

“These bars have to be opened from time to time, so that the rubbish doesn’t get stuck,” Mithian explained. “The palace keeper had keys.”

“And how did you get them?”

“I have my ways,” she smiled. “Look!”

They saw pale moonlight in the end of the tunnel; the stench was suffocating.

“Palace moat,” Mithian noticed. “We jump into the moat and swim the canals through the Rose Wall. Once behind the Rose Wall, it will not be a trouble exiting the city…”

“You said you wanted to escape the city long ago,” Arthur couldn’t help but ask it. “Why haven’t you used the drains? Why did you try to flee from a hunting trip?”

“Arthur, if you had an option to either ride away from the hunting group on a horse or to get covered in shit and ratshit and swim the palace moat, what would you choose?” Mithian laughed. “Come. Let’s go.”

They reached the end of the tunnel and Arthur saw the moat waters shimmering not very far beneath.

“Try not to make much noise, try to dive and hold your legs close. Be the knife that slides into butter,” Mithian told him, and off she jumped.

 _Goddess. Merlin, I think Perilous Land could’ve been a more pleasant ride than the royal palace of Lydon,_ Arthur thought _,_ jumping into the dark after he’d heard a splash.


	54. Snow Prophecies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After winning support of twenty clans of Essetir druids, Morgana and Alvarr depart Iseldir's forest to prepare for the attack on Jarl's fortress, if everything goes as planned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

Dusk found Morgana on the fringe of the wood close to the watercourse, with rotten leaves and mud beneath her feet. Trees were pressing on every side, shutting out the moon, some tall and straight, other trunks gnarled and twisted with mushrooms sprouting among them. Morgana's inhales were soft and steady; she was smiling from the rich scents of ferns and flowers that grew in profusion. _This is after all a great place. It's not hard to understand why they wouldn't want to leave._ Owls were waking.

The mild cough came from behind her back. She didn't even turn around to greet the man.

“You didn’t seem impressed with my speech. I thought you’d not see me off.”

“Your speech was wonderful," Morgana heard Iseldir's robes sweep the earth. "It was heartwarming to hear you mention Emrys. I am sure you are genuinely attracted to his figure, and the legend of Emrys holds a special place in your heart. You haven’t just put it in your speech to gain support from the clans, you wouldn't exploit druids’ believes to your advantage in such a manner, I’m sure.”

Morgana was not afraid of his eyes. At night, she felt stronger, so strong that not even Iseldir's piercing gaze felt a threat to her. _He won't see past me. He can't do anything to stop me. I gained support from River clan, Oak clan, Willow clan, Yew Clan, Archbow Clan, Squirrel Clan. Twenty clans out of fifty are ready to offer their help._

“What do you need, Iseldir? You want to expose my ignorance of Emrys to the other druids to make the clans hate me?”

“No," Iseldir came to stand close to her, watching her take care of the horse. "If I wanted the clans to hate you, I would’ve revealed to them that you are a priestess of the Old Religion.”

“But you haven’t. So. Did you come to give me yet another lecture?”

“No. I came to warn you," though due to his ever soft voice, it was as far from warning as it could be. _He would seem kind had I not heard him talk gibberish about my sister._

“Warn me of what?”

“Of Emrys.”

_I would call for Gaius if I wanted to listen to bedtime stories._

“Iseldir, I don’t know you at all, and you don’t know me either, but trust me, I am not fond of lege…”

“Emrys is not a legend,” Iseldir's voice seemed as natural in the night forest as a mild wind.

“I’m not fond of prophecies either.”

“Emrys is neither a legend nor a prophecy. He’s a man. The Last Dragonlord. I met him myself.”

_Of course you did. That's what you want your people to believe._

“If he’s the last dragonlord, then why doesn’t he lead the druids, commanding the dragon and slaughtering your foes?” Morgana asked, trying to shut mocking bemusement out of her tone.

“Because when I saw him, he didn’t know of his power. Didn’t know he was a dragonlord.”

“How _convenient_.”

"Morgana, remember, there were times when you, too, didn't know you had magic. You may believe it or not, Morgana, but you have met Emrys, too. When you lived in the castle of Camelot. And trust me, you’d do well to treat him with respect when you meet him in his full power.” 

The owl scared her when it stormed off the tree branch, and when Morgana turned to face Iseldir, the night air was dark-green, and the druid was nowhere to be spotted.

***

Iseldir's words kept troubling Morgana on her ride north. It was an unhurried journey, slowed by the darkness of the owl's hour and the lack of proper roads. The horses were neighing in discomfort as they followed the paths that would snake their way through the dense forests. Even though it was the first night she and Alvarr were left alone, her mood didn't suit romance.

 _What could he mean by that? I met a dragonlord in the castle? Is he sane?_ Morgana bit her lower lip as she tried to avoid being trapped in the schemes of the leader of Essetir tribes. _Did her say this just to make me afraid of the way I abused this legend about Emrys? He didn't sound as though he were lying. But maybe he's just too good a liar._

"Will you ever be happy?" Alvarr's tone was playful.

"What?" she shook her head, trying to sweep Iseldir's apathetic eyes away with a broom of her will.

"You've just won twenty clans to the side of the druid uprising. You're the first priestess to do so!"

_That’s because they didn’t know I was a priestess. Still, he's proud of me. Told me he was moved by my speech._

"Twenty clans is a little more than two thousand and five hundred people. Children among them. How much food do you think they will donate?"

"That's better than nothing. If each family gives their month's supply for us, we..."

"... shall still be short of supplies for an army of five thousand Essetir swords," Morgana sighed. "I am afraid we shall seize Howden."

_Where else are we supposed to get more food? Howden's close to White Mountains, close to the pass of Camlann and comfortably distant from the castle of Camelot. And Howden has granaries. It must have._

"But it's not Howden that's troubling you."

"You're not surprised I've decided to seize Howden?"

"You're talking to a sworn enemy of the crown, a renegade with an award offered for his head," Alvarr laughed. "I've already thought about raiding Howden more times than you could count. What troubles you, Morgana?"

"Iseldir. You told me he is a powerful sorcerer."

"He is."

"He told me he had met Emrys."

"What?!" Alvarr burst out with laughter. "Oh, my, how arrogant he has fallen. Does he really think he will convince druids to... I mean, this is nonsence. A jester’s trick. Believe that Emrys is real because I've met him. But I can't present him to you. Who's buying it?"

"He told me I've met Emrys, too. In the castle. He told me when I met Emrys he didn't know he was a dragonlord."

"And you believed him?"

"I'm... I'm... What if it's true? Somebody has freed the dragon in the castle. Someone with the power of the Old Ways."

"Do you think you suspect somebody?"

"No."

 _How can I suspect anybody? The castle of Camelot, the Lower Town and the Southern Village host more than ten thousand people. The dragon was freed after Morgause had taken me away. Anybody could've done it._ Morgana rubbed her wrist to touch the icy bracelet. _The bracelet heals you not only physically. It also protects you from mentally disturbing visions of your dreams. Sadly, the gift of seer often deals with disturbing visions, and these visions must be admitted to your dreams._

She knew Alvarr's desire for her was strong, for it was the first night they could spend together with neither his companions nor other druids anywhere close, but her own desire to know the truth was stronger. When they reached the oak grove where they were supposed to meet the other druids from Andor camp to prepare for the attack on Jarl’s fortress, Alvarr tried to hint at the time they could spend together.

"Not today," Morgana replied. "Today, I want the night to answer some of my questions."

Alvarr muttered something and took his own sleeping cloak and lay to sleep a little far from her. Morgana took the bracelet off, and was amazed to feel her eyelids get heavy the instant. The sleep had never come easier.

She dreamed she sat in the throne room of Camelot, with lords and ladies laughing at her before her eyes gleamed gold and they trembled in fear and raced to bend the knee. Before long, the throne room was empty, and the doors - closed. When the door opened, a raven flew in, made a circle beneath the ceiling and descended to gorge on her neck. She screamed and waved her hands, and ran out of the hall. Once she kicked the doors open, she realized she was no longer trapped in the castle. It was a field covered with snow, and people in armor and mail fighting all around her, the clangor of steel filling up the air. Suddenly, the gusts of wind became so strong she nearly lost her balance; the fighting stopped and people were screaming and shouting. Before long, a blizzard was attacking them, and snowflakes in the air were as sharp as stones, hitting her on the face. The skies darkened, and out of the snow whirlwind, a red dragon came, crashing the ground, his mighty tail sweeping some soldiers off the field. His eyes studied Morgana curiously, and he spat fire, sending flames to swallow her. Terrified, she shrieked and ran away; the flames could not hurt her because of the snow storm. She kept running until she saw a hut in the field. Once inside the hut, she closed the door behind her, and looked at two figures that were standing beside the hearth. It was Merlin and Mordred, the druid boy they smuggled out of Camelot one day. Mordred looked at her with sad eyes, his mouth open and when he said "Emrys", Morgana woke up and started shaking Alvarr.

"Alvarr, wake up! I think I know who Emrys is!"

***

Once a stronghold and a seat of Essetir noble House Sagavar who boasted of their royal blood, the Fortress of Jarl, known simply as Lockgate, inherrited little from the past grandeur of the castle. In the days long gone, its curtain wall encircled the brow of the hill upon where Lockgate sat, which was meant to symbolize the crown resting on a monarch's head, the crown House Sagavar envied so much. However, trebuchets, siege towers, hammers and the time itself had reduced the wall to its foundation which now remained with nothing but a few waist-high piles of crumbling stone here and there.

The keeps somehow survived the days of unrest, even though the local small folk that had been ruled by House Sagavar tried to make off with most of the stones to raise their own houses, barns and smaller holdfasts once their masters perished. The look of the keep walls proved the whole construction was on its way to collapse, and the towers had bricks and stones falling off their walls from time to time, and it appeared that there ought to be some spells sewn into the foundation of the whole castle - it seemed to be the only explanation of its longlasting.

The castle owed its former grandeur to being a part of the Old Roman road which ran from Mercia to the castle of Ascetir and further to the castle of Chemary of Midlands, Burnwood and castle of Gedref in Seaside Kingdom. However, when Uther Pendragon conquered Five Kingdoms, he poured most of his new-forged crown's money into building a new Camelot-Mercia road, the one that would link two kingdoms directly without crossing Essetir. Once Uther's road was built, the Old Roman road in Essetir suffered decay.

It was believed that Jarl was still trying to use the Old Roman road to deliver slaves to Mercia, to the Wide Bay, from where they would be shipped either to Anglia or to Kent, the two kingdoms who were most vulnerable to Saxons’ landings and most eager to provide the Saxon warlords with slaves to avoid raids.

Morgana was at the head of the column; the sun was making her keep her eyes half-closed all the time. It hanged high in the air, as though a blinding golden shield in the sky cloaked in blue. _Not a single cloud. I thought I saw lightnings in the eastern sky last night. Was I dreaming about it, too?_

Her hands were tied behind her back, maybe a little too tight, for she felt the ropes made the skin on her wrists raw. They’ve put her in the head of the column so that the guards could see her pretty face and understand this was a prey Jarl would thank them for.

There were twenty other captives in the column, men and women alike, who all had their wrists tied behind their backs. Additionally, each captive’s leg was attached to a fellow captive’s leg with rope, so that fleeing would be an impossibility. And so they marched, ten pairs in a column, guarded by six men with axes. Behind the column, two carts were being pulled by horses, carts piled with swords, axes, daggers, hunting skins, furs, and everything that could be found in a druid camp.

They crossed the ruins of the curtain wall and headed to a muddy smaller keep with locked doors and four guards welcoming them. The building served as a gate, a passing point into the inner yard and keeps where Jarl dwelled and where the slaves were supposed to be kept.

“Whoa!” a broad-shouldered man with pigtailed beard whistled at her sight. “Where did you find such a beauty?”

He approached her to run his finger up and down her cheek. _If Alvarr saw this, he would’ve killed him at once,_ Morgana thought, trying to put all the hate of the world in the single look she directed at Jarl’s guard.

“Oh, this one’s with character,” the guard laughed, slapping her on the cheek. His hit felt like a burn of the blade that was fresh off the smithy. “Good. Jarl loves them girls with strong character. Might be this one will stay. If Jarl refuses you, I’m like to ransom you myself.”

 _The moment you touched me, you’ve signed your own doom,_ she promised the guard with the malign look in her eyes. But she dared not follow him. She stood as the other captives did, terrified and hopeless. and soon looked as though she had no courage to lift her eyes off the ground beneath her feat. Morgana heard the Jarl’s guard talk to her capturers behind her back.

“Where have you found these?”

“In the oak grove. They are druids. Or so they say. Were on their way somewhere. We heard Jarl bids handsome price for druids,” Morgana heard the voice from behind her back. The sun turned scathing hot on her face.

“How did you capture them all? The six of you?”

“We overdosed their cooking bowl with sleeping draught. They were too many to fight. This girl in the front claims she’s of royal blood and we can’t treat her this way.”

“Which one?”

“The black-haired girl. The one’s with the bird’s nest of a hair. These men had too much weapons for druids, though. Check the cart. They had axes and swords.”

“Axes and swords, you say? Let me look… Whoa, that’s hellofalotta weapons… What were these birds planning to do? There goes a saying between fools that they plan to rebel against Camelot’s crown now that old dog’s dead… Well, druids or not, twenty men is a nice prey. Jarl will pay you good coin.”

“Does your Jarl have need of axes on swords? We may sell it elsewhere, if he doesn’t.”

“Jarl will pay for everything. But keep modest when he’s setting the price, else he’ll get angry! Lewt, Frenstil, check that all the druids are tied well. If they are not, tie them more and open the gates. Open wide, we have carts and horses to let in!”

 


	55. Magic Wand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Lancelot leave Perilous Land and go back to Camelot.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

When Merlin and Lancelot left the Tower of the Fisher King, the Perilous Land was ablaze with the fire of the first dawn in thousand years, and Merlin felt his own heart hammering in his chest to celebrate the return of his magic. No longer would the sunstone consume his powers and dull his senses, no longer would the chain be stinging his neck and his chest, no longer would the future seem hopeless. The world was once again a song.

There was a song of sunrise, a quiet and tender tune that was getting louder as the sun was climbing the sky. Merlin could hear the song of wind - a crashing melody that reminded him of the drums in the feast hall of Camelot. The songs of stars were the most mysterious, as though secrets whispered by the distant enigmatic worlds. Above them all, there was one song Merlin cherished more than any other: the song of Arthur.

He knew Arthur was alive, he could hear it in the magic tunes floating in the air. The power of his sight was not enough to carry his vision to the castle of Gedref, but Merlin was sure Arthur was waiting for him. _Will he think I've changed when he sees me? What news will he bring from Nemeth?_

Merlin was ready to jump and sing as he and Lancelot crossed the bridge where they had been greeted by a short man. As they climbed the mountain and cast the farewell look over the Perilous Land, they couldn't recognize it. The orange glow of doom was gone, the sky was as blue as summertime and the sun was hanging low above the eastern horizon, breathing natural colors into the fallen kingdom and bringing green out of the swamps, black and brown out of uprooted withered trees and red out of clay roads.

"Will you not do anything about them?" Lancelot asked when they heard a loud cry of wyverns that were flying above the black canine tower pointing at the sky.

"I don't think there's anything to do about them," Merlin considered. "They are free here. Now that the doom is gone, they can make nests here without fear."

"How wonderful," Lancelot snorted. "Nests of wyverns. People would be jolly happy about it."

"Well, nobody lives here. Even if.... I mean, it would take time. Maybe years and years before somebody claims the land again, right? I suppose they'd hunt in the forests of Andor now..."

"Goddess, that's awful," it was clear Lancelot was still feeling too uncomfortable without his sword.

_If I couldn't command these creatures, I'd be appalled by them, too, I guess._

"Oh, trust me, Lance, there are creatures worse than wyverns! There are trolls, they sleep in horse shit and bathe in it, too, and eat rotten fruit and dead rats and have the power to tear a horse in halves with bare hands! And I've seen a Questing Beast, it's like... a lion mixed with a snake, and it runs and has deadly venom, one bite's enough to grant a certain death! And some say there are giant scorpions in the woods since the days of the..."

"Merlin, for Goddess sake, please, stop talking about them," Lancelot smiled. "They are terrible. Sometimes I wonder how people have survived in Albion in the old days, with all these... giant scorpions in the woods."

Lancelot shuddered and was happy to see their horses after the bridge crossing; the two animals looked happy to see their riders return. _Is mother keeping Dolly safe? I hope she does. She saved us and carried us from Brechfa. She deserves apples every day._

"So where to now?" Lancelot asked.

_To the only place where I belong. To Arthur._

"We better head back to Camelot, I guess. I want you to.. to find Gwen and Gwaine."

"Me? Won't you be going to the castle with me?" Lancelot frowned as he suspected something could be wrong.

"I... I, well, let's travel south first. We need to get far enough from the Perilous Land for me to summon the dragon. I think Kilgharrah's still afraid of flying his giant arse anywhere close to the Fisher King's Land."

"Why would he be afraid? He is a bloody giant fire-breathing dragon."

"There are some rules of magic even dragons can't defy. The curse that befell the Fisher King's land turned all the dragons into wyverns. Kilgharrah was afraid to suffer the same fate."

"What then?" Lancelot pressed.

"I'll need to talk to Kilgharrah. I have some questions to ask. It's possible that we will have to part. If so, I want you to go to Camelot, to find Gwen and Gwaine and tell them something."

"Tell them what?"

Merlin climbed into his saddle and caressed the hair of the stallion. _You will be back to Camelot stables soon, don't worry._

"Lance, if you arrive at the castle of Camelot and find out that the castle of Gedref has rebelled against Ryence, then you must take Gwen and Gwaine and go to Gedref. Arthur will be there, and I will be there with him."

_If Gwen agrees to go to Gedref. If she agrees to meet Arthur after poisoning his father._

"Merlin," Lancelot gave him a look that was hard to read, for it was a thin line between admiration and fear. "For someone with shoulders as broad as yours, you're playing too dangerous games. Does Arthur have any idea of what you really are?"

"And what am I?" Merlin asked curiously, sending his horse into gallop after Lancelot's.

"A force!" Lancelot shouted from the saddle. "A force to be reckoned with!"

***

The horses were no longer afraid of the ride. The curse of Perlious Land was gone together with the sunstone magic, and the subtle threats were no more whispered by the darkness between the stony hills which looked like crowns.

Perilous or not, the northmost parts of Andor had not become a land destined for journey overnight, and much remained the same. They still had to guide their horses along a treacherous path between the stony hills, always pricking their ears in fear to hear a rockslide. The soil was as dry and lifeless as Merlin remembered it. The dried riverbeds were as much a concern for horses as the lack of forage.

"We need to get out of here by sunset," Lancelot urged him, trying to make as little breaks as horses could tolerate. "I want to get to the forests of Andor."

It was clear that sleeping beneath the open sky looked like a grim opportunity after learning the wyverns may start hunting. _Well, he's right. They can mistake us for some prey. They would've killed us unless I gave an order._ However, there was now something about the land of Andor which made Merlin feel uneasy. _She can be there._

"Is there any other way to Camelot?" he asked, trying to sound unbothered. "I just don't wanna risk getting into druids' sight."

_And Morgana's sight in particular._

"There's another way, through Powys. That land's empty as a crypt."

_Right. And Idirsholas stands there as an empty grave._

"Let's go through Powys," Merlin suggested.

"As you say. We'll have to reach the forests of Andor first, anyway."

Riding beneath sunlight was an improvement, though, for the gloomy rocks no longer seemed to resemble watchtowers of some evil force; on the contrary, it seemed that the tender blue of the sky had a protective aura, as though somebody was watching over them from the realm where everything was blue and summer lasted for eternity.

"You think Gwen will be happy to see me come back?" Lancelot asked closer to midday, when the rocks around them began to descend and turn into rolling windswept hills.

_Judging by how her vase missed your head by inches... For your own sake, I hope she is. If not, you better hope she hasn't been working on her aim._

"Merlin?"

"Oh, sorry. Well, I... I haven't had the... Lance, I wanna be frank with you," he abandoned all the attempts to stay respectful. "If you want to win her back, you need to do two things. You must apologize. You must explain to her why you rode away. The way you explained everything to me. And you must promise that such notions will never stand between you and her again. That you will never abandon her out of fear for not being able to find your place in life. Don't be afraid of bringing more confusion to her life, Lance. Love is not about less confusion. Love often seems the most confusing thing," Merlin added, trying to hide a shy smile.

_I know I would've caused so much confusion to Arthur. More than any war his father has waged, I'm sure. Goddess, if Uther hadn't died... What would we have done? How would we have lived? Hiding our feeling from Arthur's father and his guards all the time? Meeting once or twice a week in the Western Tower and King's Wood, always afraid the watching patrols would be upon us? And if Arthur's betrothal to this Princess Elena would've come to marriage... What would he have told Uther? I'm sorry father, I can't marry the princess of Gawant because I am in love with my servant. Which one? Or, the one with magic bottom. I'm not japing, father... Goddess, Uther could've disinherited him and tried to kill me._

***

By sunset they were at the edge of thin forests of northern Andor; Lancelot urged them to go deeper and make a camp where no harm could come to them from wyverns. As they were moving through trees and stumps, Merlin was watching the last light fade in the west, and he thought he could see storm raging above the horizon, and the boom of distant thunder was washing the sky.

It took them another half an hour to find a camp site, where a murmurous stream encircled a small meadow. Lancelot built a fire and sat cross-legged beside it, gazing into the flames as if they were the greatest thing he had ever seen. Lancelot was drinking deep, when he saw Merlin grab his Sidhe staff. Lancelot lowered the waterskin and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Where are you going?" Lancelot looked dubious.

"Why, to somewhere more spacious. Kilgharrah's too fat to land in the forest," Merlin chuckled. "I will summon him out of the wood and be back at once. I won't leave you until morning, don't worry."

"Try to be quick," Lancelot sounded as though he was complaining. "I don't fancy staying in the forest without a sword after all your stories about giant scorpions and questing beasts."

"I will be as fast as possible," Merlin promised.

The night was inky black, and stars were gleaming cold, twinkling and blinking at each other in the conversation of the secret world they must have belonged to. _What are the stars?_ The wind was blowing strongly, howling almost like a wolf the thinner the forest was. _Are there wolves in Andor? There must be. There are no hunters and a lot of prey,_ Merlin thought, remembering the fox he had seen on his way to the Fisher King.

Once out of the wood, he roared a dragoncall into the air, and waited for Kilgharrah, watching the moonrain reign above the plains to the southwest. His magic was dancing in his heart, happy to feel the union with the ancient forces sewn into the powers of nature.

_How many lords will it take to make this war bloodless? How many bannermen have to join Arthur's side for Ryence to understand he can not prevail? Well, I could've killed Ryence, I know. I still can. But that will only unite people against Arthur. If they see Ryence die at the hands of a warlock... Camelot will lose all hope of becoming a land where magic's welcome. I can secretly get into the castle though. Knock the guards off and capture Ryence and smuggle him out. But that doesn't sound like a good plan either. Ryence himself is but one person. He has the support of many lords who command hundreds of soldiers. But Arthur's name means a lot. People can't just believe that he is a wraith, can they? They can't believe that a dead man can be leading a rebellion. Do they know? Do they know about rebellion?_

Kilgharrah emerged far afield, a shadow in the moonlight, flying fast and growing until a dark silhoutte gained the shapes of unfolded wings, thick body and long massive tail. Happy to have spotted his dragonlord, Kilgharrah roared, and for half a moment the black of the sky turned into day, so bright was the flash of red flame high in the air. Kilgharrah's flapped his wings to slow himself down before landing, causing the gusts so strong they nearly made Merlin lose his balance.

"I am happy to see you, young dragonlord," Kilghrrah's eyes were brighter than usual. "The fate favored you as I thought she would. Gone is the Phoenix Heart, claimed by the one who shares guilt for the death of the Ancient One."

Merlin bowed down to greet the dragon - he wasn't sure it was required, since it was he who commanded in their relationship, but Kilgharrah, after all, was someone who had saved him and Arthur so many times Merlin owed the dragon a big debt.

"I wanted to see you. I did it all! I am free now, and Arthur lives!"

"It is but the truth. The once and future king returned to unite the land of Albion. But he faces no less threats now, and these threats come from friends and foes alike. Your and Arthur's path need to lie together again, for without you, Arthur will never succeed."

"I want you to take me to Gedref," Merlin asked, ready to hear Kilgharrah's protests against being used like a horse.

"The Seaside Kingdom," the dragon was waving his tail pleasantly. "It has been a long time since I visited this land. Two hundred years have passed."

"You lived in the Seaside Kingdom?"

"I was brought there by Ashkanar when he was exiled from Camelot. The castle was raised on the rock in the sea, destined to be a home for the dragonlord and his dragons alike."

"But before that... I wanted to ask you something. When I was in Camelot, I asked Gaius about this," Merlin said pointing at the staff in his hand. ""He told me the staff was an object which has been magically enchanted to help a wizard or a witch channel their magic power through it."

"The traitor speaks the truth," Kilgharrah nodded. "Despite the loath I bear him, I have to admit that his knowledge of the Old Ways is matchless among mortals."

Merlin bit his lip in discomfort when he heard Kilgharrah call Gaius a traitor. _Everybody who hasn't tried to free him is a traitor to him._

"This staff has a core which gives it power: the Sidhe crystal. I was wondering, what if we... er... put this core into a different object? More comfortable than staff? How about a stick? Or a wand?"

"Why have you not tried it yourself, young dragonlord?" Kilgharrah's golden moons were eying Merlin with interest.

"I... Gaius told me no wizard or witch, not even the High Priestess of Avalon holds enough power to create objects that can help to channel magic power in the way the staff does. He said the staff is of ancient Sidhe origins. As ancient as the dragons. Well, I can’t talk to Sidhe. But I can talk to a dragon."

"The object you're asking me to create will hold immense power, young dragonlord, for it will be the union of the dragon and the Sidhe magic. Such union has never happened before."

"Well, everything must happen for the first time at some point, er... right?"

Kilgharrah was silent for some time, the shades of doubts besieging his eyes and smoke was rising from between his teeth.

"Who told you to do it?" he finally asked.

"No one! I swear, it was just Gaius and me. When Gaius told me of the staff, I thought... thought about it, I asked about other objects that can help wizards and witches channel their magic. Gaius told me about rings, but mentioned that they were extremely rare."

"There once was a warlock who abused the power of a magic ring. In the days long forgotten, Mairon the Admirable saw the ring as the source of power that would help him achieve his own goals and desires faster than if he had pursed them on his own. His descent into the Dark Arts destroyed the world as we knew it."

"I... I was not planning to destroy the world, I swear. I love it too much. And I don't wanna have a magic ring, actually. I thought about this stick or wand with a magic core, they'd be a minor copy of a staff..."

"Still, such object can have the influence on the magic world, the influence you can't foresee. If unworthy warlocks and witches learn to copy such objects..."

"How can they? They will lack power to replicate them. They’d need a Sidhe or a dragon. And the last time I checked, you were the only surviving dragon."

"On your head be it, young dragonlord. Know that with such an object, you will require no incantation and spells to perform magic. The wand will shape your will and your desires. Be cautious of what you wish. Do you have a wand?"

"Here. I thought of ash tree as most befitting," Merlin said, reddening in front of Kilgharrah from the memories about Arthur kissing him in his mother's garden by the ash tree. _He wouldn't let me out of his arms before I swore an oath to return to him. Oh, Arthur, I shall keep this oath, you watch me, we shall meet soon. How long does it take to fly to Gedref?_

Merlin lay the ash wand and the Sidhe staff at dragon's claws.

"Now step aside, young dragonlord," Kilgharrah commanded.

Merlin saw his own reflection in the smoldering golden and red pits of Kilgharrah's eyes. The dragon's long scaled neck stretched towards the staff and the wand on the ground, and when his mouth opened, the flames were cast. Merlin gasped, for he was sure this flame was enough to burn the staff and the wand and melt them to ashes, but the flame was of strange yellow colour. The staff and the wand rose off the ground and flew up the flames; the staff wood melted, leaving only the glowing blue crystal and ash wand in the flames. Kilgharrah's eyes gleamed, and the crystal collapsed into tiny pieces, encrusting the ash wand. Then his mouth closed, and the wand fell on the ground. To Merlin's surprise, it felt cold in his hands.

Merlin put on a wide grin of content as he kept the wand in his hand, trying to adjust his mind to the new sensation. It appeared to him the wand was not an object like staff or ring; it felt alive and as happy to have got into Merlin's hand as Merlin was happy to hold it.

"THANK YOU!" he shouted to Kilgharrah.

"It is a pleasure to serve you, young dragonlord," Kilgharrah replied. "Is there aught else to be asked?"

"Er... One more thing. Father told me my soul and yours are brothers before he died."

"That's what Balinor has been told by his father. And his father - by his father. And on and on it goes."

"Where do souls go after we die?" Merlin knew his voice was weak for some odd reason.

"Why, but it is known, young dragonlord. Into the spirit world. What is in the spirit world is the mystery unknow to dragons."

"But not all the souls go to the spirit world. Some stay and live another life here, right?"

"It is said so, young dragonlord. However, you appear too young to be so much interested in the spirit world and souls traveling through mortal lives. What troubles your mind?"

"You knew prince Darian? Son of Queen Andor?"

"Briefly. Him and his dragon Adenya. She was very beautiful."

"Can it be that... can it be that.... Can it be that my and Arthur's souls have met in my previous life?"

_When I was prince Darian of Druid Land. And Arthur was prince Reginald of Seaside Kingdom. Prince Reginald the Hunter, as he styled himself. Or prince Reginald the Dull, as I styled him._

"I can't know, young dragonlord. Only spirits and crystals may know."

"Is there a place where these... er... crystal are?"

"In the Crystal Cave," Kilgharrah nodded.

"Right. Of course. Where else would crystals be?" Merlin's chuckle was met with calm by Kilgharrah. "And this Crystal Cave, is it... on our way to Gedref?"

"It is. In the plains of Denaria."

"Amazing! I... can you please wait for me here until morning? I will part with friend and then we shall fly to Gedref."

"I will do as you command."

The air was a thick veil of darkness, wrapped tightly around the forest where the camp was. Merlin's sight was of little use to him, for all he could see ahead was darkness. He spent more time in his search for Lancelot and their camp than he intended.

"Lance!" Merlin whispered when he finally appeared by the stream. He didn't want to wake his friend.

 _Wait. Where are the horses?_ Merlin held the wand stronger _. Horses. Gone. Where's Lancelot?_

"Lance!" he shouted. "Lance, where are you?!"

Merlin raised his wand high above his head; he wanted some light to see where Lancelot's things were. His wish came true the instant as the tip of his wand was illuminated with warm light. Merlin saw Lancelot's waterskin on the ground and the traces of combat, for it appeared somebody might have fallen into the fireplace. Lancelot was gone. _Lance_.

 


	56. Forbidden Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana meets Jarl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

The gates of the keep were made of raw new wood, suggesting Jarl did care about the safety of his castle, after all. One of Jarl's gate guards knocked on it with the hilt of his axe; the sally port opened at once, and the guard disappeared. She heard shouts behind the thick gates, but couldn't understand what they were talking about. Before long, the doors produced a heavy, earth-scratching sound, and Morgana had to back off to not get swamped by the massive opening gates.

Inside, the keep was a ruin, with floors and ceilings collapsed and a pile of charred planks that seemed to have belonged with the old gates. There were other gates at the end of the hall, made of old blackened wood. The guards shouted at them, and she could feel the captive behind her back push her forward.

Her heart was thumping, loud as a drum in her own ears, echoing in every step she made. _Alvarr will not help me here. What if I lose him?_ She saw guards, four on the left, five on the right, and three at the gates in the other end of the keep. Morgana kept her ears pricked, remembering the password they had agreed upon. In the meantime, the column of captives was moving deeper into the big dusty hall; she heard some of the guards whistle at her.

"I've hurt my leg!" a woman from the end of the column screamed. "I have hurt my leg, somebody help me!"

"They'll help you soon enough, darling," one of Jarl's guards laughed. "Now keep walking, you're slowing the horses."

_Hurt her leg. The password. The carts are past the gates._

Morgana closed her eyes and let her thumping heart stop for a moment. She held her breath and then exhaled and she knew her exhale had the desired effect, for she could feel her own wrists free of ropes, and the sound of ropes falling on the ground all throughout the column of captives. _Fools_.

Morgana turned around to survey the scene of her triumph: she saw the captives rush to the cart with weapons, and before Jarl's guards could understand something, fighting began.

"SORCERY!" one of the Jarl's guards screamed. "They are no captives! They have a sorcerer!"

 _A witch, to be certain,_ Morgana smirked as she knocked a man off his feet by raising her arm and _wanting_ him to fall down. She sprang to her feet, maneuvering through other captives, and grabbed the sword that felt so alive in her hand. When she turned around, she saw a Jarl's guard run at her. Morgana jumped back, parrying, but the man followed, pressing his attack. Turning one cut after another, Morgana saw people around her fight, as swords and axes were kissing each other and springing apart. She felt no fear, on the contrary, Morgana felt as though she were born to do it, born to command death with every stroke of sword. The Jarl's guard proved a worthy swordsman, though, so strong were his blows that Morgana had to use two-handed grip as he kept raining steel upon her.

 _Time to finish it._ She started to do what she always believed was right. _He is stronger, but I am faster. I'll cut him left. Right. Left. Left again._ Morgana was swinging so fast and so hard there were sparks when their swords came together. Before long, he was grunting like an old man at every crash, and then he could not reach her, cursing as she was slipping away. The guard was not swinging his sword as quickly as he'd done it earlier, and when he tried to catch a moment of respite, she finished him with a downcut that left him open from shoulder to groin.

She looked around to see three of the remaining guards kneel. The druids had lost three people to the fight. _They must be honored with a proper burial_. Steel kept ringing at the gates, but the main purpose was done: they controlled the outer gates of the keep _. The gates are open._

The next moment, close to forty men poured in through the open gates, and she saw Alvarr among them at once, with the sword in his hand and the look that meant he wouldn’t know rest unless he found her.

“Morgana! There’s blood on your blade!” he knocked on her steel with his, smiling. “I told you to leave the fighting to others!”

“I was meant to fight,” Morgana said, so happy to see him lose his head because of her.

“Your plan worked! This worked!” he grabbed her by the gown and pulled her close to kiss her in a battle fever; she felt her nipples stiffen in response. _This is sheer madness. We’re fighting._ “I was so worried you wouldn’t be able to free _all_ the people off their ropes…”

“Freeing was easy. We lost three to the fight.”

“We would have lost many more if we started storming the gates,” Alvarr was trying to outdo the loud shouts of the warriors. There were now more than sixty men and women, all armed. “OPEN THE BLACK GATES!”

His men rushed forward, ready to open the gates of blackened wood in the other end of the hall.

“Listen, try not to get in the first row, will you? May the fire help us, we’ll catch Jarl unawares. Sixty men’s enough to put an end to this cesspool.”

The gates creaked, and Morgana squinted her eyes from the sunlight fist that stormed between the parting of two doors. She heard a loud battle cry and saw men running into the inner yard.

“Be careful!” she shouted, hoping it would mean something to Alvarr. _Of course, it won’t. He’s as careful as me. He was born to fight._

_***_

It was a slaughter, a red slaughter. Jarl’s guards were not ready for an attack, nor had they any reason to suspect one was planned. The curtain wall of the castle had been gone, but the four keeps that remained stood in such a way that the inner yard was protected on all four sides by tall crumbling walls. The gates of three of the four keeps had been sealed and piled with stones, and the only gates in and out of the inner yard were thought to be guarded.

By the time most of the guards reached for their weapons, half of them had been cut. The druids then separated into three groups: Alvarr led men into Jarl’s keep to seize the slavetrader himself, another man was sent into the guards’ keep with twenty five druids, and Morgana commanded ten people into the keep where slaves were kept in pits.

By the look of it, it was the least guarded keep, and rightfully so – small chance was there that people would be able to get out of their prison unless they managed to lift the bars and get the ropes from somewhere.

The guards yielded, and Morgana agreed to spare them: they were thrown into the pits once they helped all the slaves get out of there. It warmed her heart to find out there were neither women nor children inside the pits. _Seeing the most vulnerable people suffer from tyrannical leaders is the worst trial life can ever put your conscience on,_ Morgana thought.

“You’re free now!” Morgana told them. “I suggest you wait until the fight is over here. You will find the yard not the safest place at the moment.”

Shouts and havoc, and utter hell had seized the inner yard. Those guards of Jarl who had or managed to grab their sword were putting on a fight. Morgana hated to stay away from the fighting, but she realized the slaves were more vulnerable than Alvarr. She looked at their faces, freckled faces, lumpy faces, sallow faces, bony faces, doughy faces, round faces, brutal faces… So many faces looking at her with unfeigned gratitude.

“Who do we have to thank for this, my lady?” an older man, slender and tall, asked as his face remained twisted in fear from the sounds that were coming from the inner yard.

“I’m no lady,” Morgana replied, smiling. “My name is Morgana, I come from the druid folk. We mean to seize Jarl and put an end to his affairs. After the fighting’s done, you are welcome to join our new settlement in Camelot or go wherever you desire.”

“MY LADY!” former guards’ hysteria was now filling the pit. “MY LADY, I SWEAR WE DID NAUGHT! WE ONLY STOOD AS GUARDS! NEVER SOLD NO ONE, MY LADY, IT WAS JARL, JARL, JARL!”

Morgana hit the bars of the pit with her steel; it made an awful screeching sound and silenced the former guards at once.

“You will keep quiet down there, unless you want these pits to become your graves! No man should ever earn his coin this way! People are not slaves!”

Yet Morgana knew it was wishful rather than real. She remembered Geoffrey tell her the Romans had a great number of slaves they would use in so many spheres of their life, from personal attendance and domestic service to farming. _Smithies_ , _pottery makers, craftsmen – they all used slaves in Roman empire_. _Romans were said to be enormously powerful, and they turned hundreds of thousands of people into slaves, according to Geoffrey. And where are they now?_

She paid no mind to further outcries and waited, waited, and waited. They had locked the keep’s doors and started talking to the slaves to take their minds off the fighting that was happening in the inner yard and Jarl’s keep. _How many guards could the Jarl have? Hardly more than fifty. Why would a slavetrader have more? He had nothing to guard here except slaves, and slaves are not treasure. Jarl can turn slaves into gold because he has purchasers. Without Jarl’s purchasers and connections, these slaves can bring no fortunes. Waiting is awful. Goddess, I need to go out and help. I need to find Alvarr, what if something happened to him? What if he’s taken a wound? What if…_

However, it was Alvarr himself who brought the word, staggering through the door and wrapping Morgana in his fleshy arms and whirling her around and around the creepy hall with all the people watching. Morgana felt so happy they all looked, so happy she didn’t need to hide anything, didn’t have the silly court stare at her.

“Everything’s done!” Alvarr was hopping from one leg to another. “We defeated them, some fled, but who cares. Jarl himself is captured, he’s cursing at everyone, but we have him in our hands, Morgana!”

_The road is free for the clans to deliver the food from Essetir to Idirsholas._

“Take me. I want to see him,” Morgana said.

The inner yard had blades and bodies carpeting the ground. Some were still alive, asking for mercy and help. Morgana didn’t want to look at their faces, for when she did, they seemed so vulnerable, so pain-tortured and humane that compassion to the dead and the wounded alike was stirring within her. Yet the next moment, she tried to imagine the number of men those brutes had helped to capture and ship off to the Wide Bay. _Bayard is playing a part in it. He was purchasing slaves from Jarl and re-selling them to Kent and Anglia who in turns would offer these slaves to the Saxons to stop their raids._

Jarl’s hall was a signature of a wisdom Morgana had once heard from Lady Dindrane at the court of Camelot. When commenting on the dress worn by Uther’s aunt Vyda during her visit to the castle of Camelot, Lady Dindrane mentioned that all the gold in the world couldn’t buy a good taste. Jarls’ hall had six round grey columns (including two destroyed ones), horns and other hunting trophies hanging on those columns next to his self-styled banners of black snakes on white cloth. _A bloody idiot. You don’t put banners and hunting trophies in one room, every child at court knows that._

His throne seat was masterfully made, though, and looked like a present from some rich purchaser that favored Jarl’s services. Jarl himself, a man with prolonged face, short greasy hair that reminded of a dirty fox tale, small eyes and smaller mouth was on his knees, bound and guarded by two druids warriors.

“Filthy vermins!” he spat, trying to bite one of the guards before he hit the slavetrader on his cheek. “Vermins! Cowards! When my purchasers hear about this treachery, they will finish what Uther started to teach you filthy forest vermins a…”

The next moment, his face looked as though he had run out of air, he tried to reach for his neck, but with his hands tied behind his back, all he could do was twist and jerk, and soon he was on the floor in convulsions, his mouth wide open, but air not getting into his lungs for some reason.

Morgana’s eyes were ablaze with golden light the whole time Jarl kept battling for his life, and when she blinked, he inhaled with a terrible sound. She finally learned, she understood: the stronger the emotion the mightier the magic. When King Ryence’s patrol caught them in the castle of Idirsholas, she was afraid, and fear let her burn the hilts of the sword of the intruders. She made the ropes untie the druids when she felt threatened by the guards and feared losing Alvarr. She choked Jarl when she was angry to hear him talk about druids. Fears, threats, anger – those were the things that largely composed her castle life ever since she had found out she had magic. However, there were few opportunities to channel those emotions – swordfight was prohibited, and her verbal sparring with Uther came to a point where even Morgana could no longer take risks. Instead, she remained at court, with witty japes as the only option to unleash her anger. However, the japes grew sparse and the humour at court – darker. _Now I am unbound. I will not let this anger well up in me and consume me from inside. I will channel it into magic. To protect the weak. And make those who abuse their power suffer._

“The next time you threaten druids, I will make sure it’s the last threat you ever utter,” Morgana warned him.

The warning didn’t work.

“Vermins…” he was soon whispering since his throat was hurt too much to permit loud sounds. “Filthy vermins...”

Alvarr gestured at the door, and the druids carried Jarl away. _He’s beyond repentance. He doesn’t understand how wrong he is, and nothing can make him realize selling people against their will is bad._

When Jarl was taken away, she turned to see Alvarr climb the steps and take the throne seat.

“You have everything you want now,” he said, drumming on the leathered wood. “Everything you wished.”

“Not everything,” Morgana said with a smile and turned back. Her eyes gleamed, and the doors were shut. She ascended the steps, seeing – by his ready gaze, his half-open mouth that Alvarr was as longing as her. Were it the fever of the battle or the joy from her first success as a rebellion leader, she didn’t care, wouldn’t care until she was in Alvarr’s arms, sitting on his knees and then pressing him to the throne. His hands were behind her gown, clutching by her waist as though it was the most treasured thing in the world. She felt goosebumps at the back of her neck when she let herself devour Alvarr’s mouth.

“Morgana,” he was whispering now. “If your sister…”

Morgana kissed his ear and stroked his bristly hair. She would not hear of Morgause. _Not now._

“Stop bringing her up. For Goddess’s sake, I will never let anybody  decide for me. Not even my sister.”

“But we could… It’s not…the best…place…not here…not now….”

“I will have you hear and now,” Morgana closed her eyes as she felt his hand slide up her thigh and further underneath her smallclothes. “Now do me.”


	57. Face to Face

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin finds Lancelot in the castle of Idirsholas

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

The night was much too dark to go deep into the woods and search for Lancelot. When Arthur had disappeared in the forest of Gedney, Merlin managed to find him because of the enchanted water the prince had drunk. The spell allowed Merlin to see Arthur's trace, a golden path that would lead him into the troll cave where the crown prince of Camelot had been kept. Lancelot had never drunk enchanted water, and Merlin was ready to howl from his own helplessness. He could, of course, be back to Kilgharrah and ride the dragon up in the sky and try to spot Lancelot and his capturers from above, but the moonlight was too pale, and the dragon would be flying too fast, thus the risk to miss Lancelot was too high.

From inspecting their camp, Merlin could make several conclusions. There were traces of boots, four different traces, it appeared. _He was not captured by wyverns. Nor by giant scorpions._ He tried to use his sight, but it was as good as useless, for all he could see was the black-soaked forest. Merlin prayed the skies would spare rainfall, for he needed the earth to save the footprints and help him trace Lancelot.

Despite the grimness of it all, Merlin was not as afraid as he had been when he had lost Arthur in the Gedney forest. He had a magic wand, and the dragon was in his reach. Lancelot's disappearance meant that whoever captured him needed him alive. _Otherwise Lancelot would be lying dead in a pool of his own blood. I must find him and get him back. He helped me in the Perilous Land. When I lost my powers after the wyvern tried to attack us..._

Merlin thought he had fallen asleep a couple of times while waiting for the sunrise, but when the eastern sky got vague with the first hint of pinkish dawn, Merlin felt stronger than ever - without sunstone, his physical strength had grown as much as his magic power.

The footprints appeared, the careful seals on the earth - some heavy and contoured, others light and careless, but his hunting trips with Arthur had taught him enough to understand how to read them. Whoever captured Lancelot brought him southwest, and Merlin kept walking, stopping by streams to fill his waterskin and using his sight to make sure he was not followed and didn't have unwanted companions waiting for him behind tree trunks. When the forest thinned, Merlin stepped from beneath the cool shadows of the trees and looked at the mass of rolling hills covered with green and yellow grass that looked somewhat unhealthy, sore and fruitless, and autumnal, to Merlin's taste. Far ahead the heavy steep rock was prepping up black-grey castle that looked gravely pale, its gloom and sinisterness didn't become the low milky clouds that would be trying to hide the sky since dawn. _Idirsholas_.

***

If Idirsholas was a grave, then some dead man must have come back to life, for the castle was nowhere as empty and unattended as Lancelot had said during their ride through rocky hills. _There's another way, he said. That land's empty as a crypt, he said. A crypt, my arse!_

Merlin had hidden his magic wand into his boot when he realized three riders had been sent to meet him. _Banners. They have banner. Green dragon_. Merlin could not remember anybody at court have a green dragon for their banner. _What are they?_

“Who are you, fella?” a big man shouted as the three horses were riding around Merlin in the field. He had a great thick beard that was growing out grey at the end.

“I’m a squire. I come looking for my master!” Merlin tried to fill his voice with tears, although the mummery didn’t come as easy.

“What would your master be doing in our land?” another rider, a long-haired one, asked as he stopped his horse.

“My master thought this was nobody’s land!”

“You look too feeble for a squire,” the great-bearded rider observed.

“My master’s a mercenary knight, he… he only can hire a squire he has the coin for,” Merlin mumbled, trying to sound ashamed.

“Ostyr, this must be the servant to that idiot we found yesterday at sunset,” the third rider observed. “Where was you master heading, fella?”

_Where? Bloody hell, where could he be heading?_

“To Mercia,” Merlin lied, trying to think of what Lancelot would’ve said.

“A pity,” the great-bearded man replied. “Your master had us believe he was traveling to Gwynedd. Seize him. See that he cares no blade.”

“Mercenaries,” the long-haired rider spat. “They are scum. A thousand times worse than Camelot’s knights. The red-cloak bastards at least believe in some piss notion of honor, but these… mercenaries believe in nothing save for coins.”

Merlin’s wrists got tied, and he was made to run after the long-haired man’s horse. Humiliating as it was, with the tale of the stallion often whipping at Merlin’s face, Merlin didn’t feel a drop of threat about the whole situation _. I could take them all down with a single wave of wand,_ he thought, hoping the ash wand would not break in his boot on the run.

He felt exhausted by the time they reached the curtain wall of the castle, gasping for air and his mouth so dry it felt it was burning whenever his tongue would move. However, he couldn’t let himself lose concentration, for the castle of Idirsholas was a sight.

To begin with, there were banners on the curtain wall, many banners which intended to mask the cracked surface of the walls and make them look strong. Those were huge cloths with green dragon, and there were people at the curtain walls, many people, too many for Merlin to count. Some were digging trenches around the perimeter, others were throwing sharp atones at the bottom of these trenches; there were also those who had to put sharp spikes in between the trench lines. A lot of people were digging wells and carrying water into the castle.

Behind the walls, Merlin noticed the castle have three levels, with the buildings and keeps on the lower one looking so dreadful they threatened to fall apart and any hope to make them look stronger by wrapping their walls in a green dragon banner was too delusional. They had been given to horses, for the animals didn’t seem to mind staying in improvised stables where no men would dare to sleep because of fear of a roof collapsing on their head.

Smells of food were carried by the wind from the middle level, and a long staircase led to a strong keep at the highest level, grey of colour, tall and strong as any castle could hope to be. It was casting an immense shadow sea over the other levels, and the whole place was filled with people Merlin could never mistake for anybody else. _Druids_.

***

The guard that was escorting Merlin to the cells shouldered aside a rather heavy door of wood and iron, and shoved Merlin into foul darkness. That part of the castle smelled of rats and spoiled water, and of hopelessness, too. When the guard lit his torch, Merlin was horrified to see the walls that had lost all the colour from the absence of sun and the sickening humidity of the cells. Something was crackling under his boots, were it some straw or some ratshit – Merlin didn’t know and didn’t want to know. _This doesn’t look like a place where druids would keep people. The druids I saw and talked too were different. Who are these?_

Through the ceiling and stones, a faint rush of middle level could be heard nonetheless, which made the place seem a bit more bearable. Depraved of sun, it still allowed the prisoners to listen to what could be happening above their heads. It was a long corridor with iron bars, empty cells, all except for two. In one cells a lad was kept; he didn’t seem older than Arthur, was sitting on the floor, his arms thrown around his knees. A bucket overflowing with feces stood next to him.

In the other cell, Lancelot raised his hands to cover his face and Merlin could hear the chains around Lance’s wrists clank.

“The light hurts my eyes!” he heard Lance say. _How many hours has he spent here, actually?_

“You address me without permission, and eyes will not be your only part that hurts,” the guard promised.

The guard unlocked the bars of a separate cell opposite Lancelot’s and threw Merlin on the cold stone.

“Make yourself comfortable,” he said mockingly. “And next time, pick a more worthy master to serve.”

Merlin waited for the guard’s steps to stop echoing behind the iron-and-wood door. He wasn’t sure Lancelot spotted the golden gleam of his eyes as he used magic to free his wrists off the ropes. His hand then reached for his boot, and before long, the tip of the magic wand in his hand was illuminated with dim light so that it would not hurt Lancelot’s eyes.

“Lance!” Merlin whispered.

“Merlin!” Lancelot replied in a hoarse voice. “Bloody hell, where have you been?!”

“I’m sorry, it took some time. Your traces were not easy to find in the dark.”

“I thought you’ve forgotten me for good!”

“Have you hurt your head? I never forget friends,” Merlin grinned. “How did you get here? Why do they keep you behind bars?”

“They appeared yesterday, not long after you left. Three of them, a hunting party returning to the castle. It was the fire that draw them. I confess, I fell asleep too quick and too carelessly, but the ride had been long. I woke up to the steel of the sword at my throat.”

“Goddess,” Merlin whispered. “Goddess, Lance, I am so sorry, so sorry, I truly am. I think I got too far away to talk to Kilgharrah, and we talked much, and he made me a magic wand.”

“Made you what?”

“This,” Merlin waved his wand, making the shadows sway in the cells. “It’s of great power! I’ll get us out easily. I’ve seen stables in the lower level. They have a lot of horses, we can be off quickly… Why would they treat you so harshly, though?”

“I don’t know. They kept telling me I was another one from some raids Ryence sent north. Told me they slaughtered a knights’ patrol five days ago, and they think I must be from another one. Some gibberish, I swear! I told them I don’t even have a sword…”

“You have magic,” a voice came from the third cell.

Merlin directed the dim light at a lad that had unwashed hair falling to his shoulders, clothes rotting on his body and face bearing the signs of being questioned intensively. He looked pale and wasted. “You have magic,” he repeated.

“I do,” Merlin said with kindness. “But I will not hurt you. I will help you get out of here.”

“She had magic, too,” the lad said. “She made the hands burn, she did… A witch, a witch….”  
“I think he’s mad,” Lancelot whispered. “Merlin, we must get out of here.”

“Of course. But we need take him with us, too.”

The steps clang behind the door. Merlin shook his wand and hid it back into the boot. The doors opened, and the light dawned, blue flames dancing in the hands of a white-haired comely woman. Merlin backed off the bars the instant. The woman didn’t look surprised when their eyes met.

“I watched you being delivered from the walls. A miserable sight, I confess, tied to a horse like some peasant fool,” Morgause put on an uneasy smile. “Well, well, look at you. You did intrigue me, Merlin, I must be honest. It was hard to understand why a lowly servant would want to risk everything for Arthur and for Camelot. I thought there had to be some reason, something I couldn’t see, something you were not telling me. After all, why would you put your own life on the line time and again?”

Even with the wand in his possession, he wasn’t stupid enough to risk fighting the High Priestess of Isle of the Blessed. For all he knew, their duel could tear the whole castle apart.

“I thought Arthur would give us a fair and just land. Thought I could gain some recognition,” he tried to sound miserable.

“A fat lie, Merlin, we both know it. Look at how quickly you’ve switched a master once Arthur died. And who is it that you’re serving now? Some mercenary who doesn’t even have a sword,” Morgause snorted, sparing Lancelot a look as though he was unworthy to be glanced at. “It turns out you are much easier than I feared, Merlin. A village boy trying to make his ends meet. I would’ve had nothing against it, however, you once chose to poison one of my own. You may regret that.”

Merlin’s instincts were on the verge of insanity as he braced himself to defy an attack Morgause could start to end his life. However, the priestess didn’t look as though she had planned to kill him: there was nothing save contemptuous intolerance and haughty disdain dancing in her eyes.

“You will kill me?” Merlin trembled.

“No. You don’t deserve to die easily. My sister is expected to arrive soon, and I leave your fate to her. I’m afraid that once she meets you… the guards won’t even find what’s left of a lowly scum like you,” Morgause said and the blue fire melted in her hand, and the cells sank into darkness.


	58. Wretched Piece of Paper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Regent Yrien recieves a peculiar letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yrien POV

The dawn was gently pink, and the morning - calm, as though the sun was ashamed to disturb the day with the sunbeams. _There should be no sunlight during mourning._ Yrien was standing by the window, watching the Lower Town surrender to the morning light. _They will soon wake. Bake bread. Start their work. Wash their faces. All these people. Do they care Ryence is dead? Do they care? Do I care?_

Yrien turned away and rang a small bell to signal her maidservants to bring some breakfast. She couldn't remember whether she had eaten the previous day. She remembered them taking her brother's body to the throne room, to wash him and dress him properly, as befitted his high birth and the crown he wore. She knew people would be admitted to the throne room the following day. _All the court lords and ladies... to pay tribute to the late king who saved their worthless arses from Cenred... They don't deserve him. He was the king who promised them freedom. His tax reform is destined to hand the freedom back to the territories of Camelot. The freedom so cruelly stripped by Uther after the conquest. And that's how they repaid him. By replacing the Meredoc salt with kitchen salt..._

She had spent the previous day questioning all Ryence's guards, one by one. Or rather witnessing Ratcatch do the questioning - for he would perform such duties far better than she could ever dream of. They were squealing and squirming as they kept losing nails and fingers, but nobody would admit taking part in the vile act. _Then how did Meredoc salt turn into simple kitchen salt? Do they take me for a fool?_

For all the court, the news read that Arthur's wraith killed Ryence and attacked Rion, and Yrien was sure that by the evening of the previous day, the tale had reached all the streets in the Lower Town and people could not talk about anything else. Nobody could doubt the version of events Yrien presented to the court, for all the four guards who witnessed the attack of the ghost had been murdered by Ratcatch, who mutilated them terribly enough to make them look like the victims of the wraith. Sagramore suggested she went to the Lower Town and addressed the crowd, for rumours were growing unruly, and people spoke of wraiths and dragons, and dragon-wraiths.   _You're now the Queen Regent_ , he told her, sweating, his huge belly dancing to every word he spoke. She reminded him that she had not been crowned yet. _Does he take me for a fool? I would not step an inch out of this castle._

In point of fact, nobody had been permitted to step out of the castle without Sir Logsheath's permission. Only a horseman of House Dindrane had left the stables with the first light the previous day. _It would be better for House Dindrane if he found the old bat. If she doesn't return to the castle with any news about those stupid druids..._

Her maidservants stepped in carefully, carrying her breakfast: porridge, bread, eggs and milk. Why, at the smell of it Yrien could even believe she was hungry, although in truth, she ordered porridge to take her thoughts off the grim visions of her brother's dead face. _Ryence_.

"I've already had a porridge this week."

"This is not an ordinary porridge, my lady," said the girl whose face didn't seem to make any difference from the faces of all her other maidservants. "This is cooked with berries. The berries season is near end and..."

"Good. I'll hear no more talking of berries. Fetch me oils and be ready to comb my hair," Yrien ordered once the girl put the tray onto her table.

The servant bowed her head and receded out of the room, trying to produce as little motion and as little noise as possible. Yrien opened the shutters and let the freshness of the new dawn wash over her face. Her inhales were greedy, and she loved the way the wind would tousle her hair. She still could not believe Ryence would never be able to live through the pleasure of opening the window and breathing in the new day. _I will make them pay. All of them._

For now, though, she knew she had to eat. The day could be long and busy, and she needed the strength and of course, required a decency about her look to meet her council. Four days ago, her brother announced his plans for the tax reform, and they expected the early reviews from the lords and ladies of Camelot's territories to arrive today. Lord Pellinore had departed for his home seat, the castle of Nemeton, three days ago after receiving a letter from his wife who was mad with grief over their dead son, but he left a note describing his thoughts on the tax reform before riding away. _Good. He has been at court long enough, I don’t want another grief-besieged face. I have enough grief of my own._

She finished the porridge quicker than she expected, and the eggs tasted exceptionally good with salt. After that, she kept dunking white bread in milk and let it melt on her tongue. _I could've had some meat_. _Something from the King's Wood._

 _King's Wood_. She thought about the hunting trip she had planned for Rion. _Once the mourning is over, I shall send him to the castle of Woodspeak, where he's to undergo special training for knighthood and kingship, while I remain in the castle of Camelot to rule._

The door opened so abruptly that she nearly choked on the warm milk. Sir Logsheath marched in, with some crumpled parchment in his hand. _What is he doing? I never leave my room before I do my hair! Nobody's to see me like this!_

"What is the meaning of this?" she asked, watching Sir Logsheath kneel.

"Forgive me, your grace," the knight said. "But there are letters. Many letters."

"Letters? What letters?!"

"Your grace, best you read it yourself," the knight said, handing her the parchment that nearly escaped her fingers because of the gust of wind that broke in through the opened window.

 

_To the members of the great houses of Camelot and her territories, to the lords and ladies of the kingdom, to brave knights, to all the good men, women and children._

_Know that King Uther never died - he was murdered. King Uther was poisoned by Lord Ryence Gingawaine, who wanted to seize his throne._

_Lord Ryence Gingawaine hired mercenaries and sent them to Brechfa and made it look as though Brechfa had been invaded. Ryence knew that the threat of war would make him look most fit to rule after Uther's death. Lord Ryence Gingawaine poisoned Uther and sent assassins to murder prince Arthur Pendragon and all the knights in his patrol._

_But Lord Ryence Gingawaine failed, and Prince Arthur survived, saved by his brave knights - Sir Owaine of House Gedref and Sir Modron of House Pellinore. Know that Arthur has been escorted to the castle of Gedref by Sir Modron and Sir Owaine. Know that the castle of Gedref calls for all the lords and ladies of Camelot's territories to rally behind the banner of Pendragons, for Arthur is this land's only true king._

_Ryence of House Gingawaine, hear this: I, Arthur Pendragon, name you a traitor, a coward and an oath-breaker. You have violated all the laws of this land when you murdered my father, and I will make you answer for your crimes._

_Signed by Owaine of House Gedref, the Lord of Gedref, and Arthur of House Pendragon, King of Camelot and all her territories._

 

Her entrails froze. She felt so sick she was afraid the milk and porridge would be coming back out of her mouth any moment. She needed to sit, somebody to lean on, but she blinked and soon gathered herself. He is watching. _I must not look weak. Gedref. Gedref. Gedref._

"Where did you find this wretched piece of paper?" Yrien demanded, thinking her fury was enough to make it burn to ashes in her hand. _Gedref. Gedref. Gedref._

"In the Lower Town, and Southern Village... And a horseman arrived, leaving a number of these letters for all the great houses... My la... Your grace, there are many letters, we keep counting them..."

_Gedref. Gedref. Gedref._

"Gather my council. At once. I will come to the council room soon. We must deal with this... folly. Sir Logsheath," she made him stop by the door. "Please, do make everybody in the castle understand, that if I ever hear any single soul discussing this wretched paper, least of all having a copy of it, I will have them hanged, however highborn this soul is."

The knight bowed down and left the room, leaving Yrien face to face with her worst nightmare. _Rion will not be going to the castle of Woodspeak unless I... deal with this. Ryence, Ryence, what have we done? Fools, fools, how could we… We thought this Pendragon pup would go to Daobeth, to ask for Uther’s aunt help… And now… Lord Pellinore must have left Camelot for a reason. Oh, Goddess, if Nemeton and Gedref join forces… No, that’s impossible, that can’t be, can’t be happening…_

_I must not panic. Nothing is lost. Gedref is a vast land, and the castle has many bannermen. Breninwall is lost, I must accept it. House Rysor will support the pup after what Ryence did to Lady Gedref. I must arrest the wench at once. Throw her in the cells and let this Owaine know what will happen to his mother if he…_

_Doomspath and Burnwood though… We can win them to our side. Burnwood is too close to the castle of Chemary. If I order Lord Gloss to raise an army, he will swamp Burnwood, so they will not dare defy me. Doomspath is the easiest to win. Lady Lludwig has been telling this silly story about House Lludwig descending from the dragonlords who captured Gedref four hundred years ago. I will win her if I promise her the seat of Gedref. Cynric will object, of course… Well, he can marry Lady Lludwig if he wants the castle that much. Else he can choke._

_Nothing is lost._

***

Her council room looked desolated. Half the seats were empty. Sir Leon was commanding a host in Brechfa, Lord Accolon had not returned from Asgorath and the seat of the Councilor of Camelot was vacant. Lord Sagramore, the royal Secretary, was by the table, his weight monstrous enough to make the special chair crumble under him, and Lady Caelia and Lord Geraint sat so close it appeared they shared a seat.

"Where is Cynric?" Yrien asked before she could even reach her seat. _The one where Ryence used to seat._

"Inspecting his new castle, I suppose," Lord Sagramore's medallion made a nasty clanging noise. _If he ever wears this silly chain again, I will hang him with this chain. Who does he think he is?_ "Gedref has been sold to him, need I remind her grace? So he is off to inspect his newfound lordship."

"Now? Now?! Gedref?!" anger flared through Yrien and made her want to skin Cynric. _He is the royal treasurer. How are we to discuss the tax reform without royal treasurere?!_ "After what happened?!"

"What happened, your grace?" lady Caelia asked shily.

Yrien took the letter out of her pocket and read it aloud. Lord Sagramore's face had become a study of horror by the time she stopped reading.

"These nasty lies about my brother, about the king who saved us all from Cenred," Yrien suddenly realized she didn't know what was there to say. "I will not even bother to comment on the accusations of this letter. Even a fool would know it's all phony. This rebellion, however..."

"It must be dealt with confidence and the response must be robust," Sagramore hurried to say. "Forgive me for saying this, your grace, but your brother was too kind-hearted in these matters. He didn't take arms against the druid rebellion, choosing to send the granddaughter of the last druid queen, old as she is, to deal with these renegades. And now Lady Dindrane has been missing for four days. We must not act the same in relation to this..."

"My lady, but how could Sir Owaine be signing this... letter?" Lady Caelia asked. "We all thought he died in the patrol... And Modron?"

"Their seals could be forgery," lord Sagramore said, and Yrien nodded fiercely at his suggestion. "They could not be writing these letters, my lady. No man could survive Cenred's butchery in the forest of Brechfa. Lady Caelia, we can't believe what is written in this letter. We must not be fooled. For all we know, it might be that the remnants of Cenred's forces have occupied the castle of Gedref and invite all the lords and ladies to come to their side in the name of Owaine and Arthur and be slaughtered."

"This is exactly what is happening," Yrien said, eyeing Sagramore curiously. _He is a westerner himself, why does he have such a stance against Arthur?_ "And we must deal with it. I shall send the host that’s commanded by Sir Leon to Gedref, to lay siege to the castle. I will also order Lord Gloss of Chema…"

"Siege?" Sir Logsheath spoke for the first time. "My la... Your grace, forgive me, but this attempt will bear no fruit. The castle of Gedref is a fortress built on a couple of rock islands in the Merchant's Bay. The castle can’t be taken. Portstown, its city, is located not very far from it, and has thick and safe walls. But what's worse, it is located on the sea shore. Even if we lay siege, they will be able to buy provisions from the countless ships that sail the Merchant's Bay."

"Then what are we to do with it?" Yrien wanted to attack him. "Would you have me accept that the castle of Gedref recognizes a different king?!"

"Your grace, Sir Logsheath is right. Siege is useless against Portstown. The main purpose of any siege is to make people in the castle starve,” Sagramore agreed. _Well, you could use some starving, my lord, judging by that giant belly of yours._ “People in Portstown will not starve, for they will be able to buy food from merchant's ships."

"How big is Portstown?" Yrien asked, irritated.

"Six thousand people, your grace," Sagramore replied quickly. "It's a big city. And well-protected by its walls, just how Sir Logsheath noticed... It can only be threatened from the sea, but Camelot has no fleet."

"Then what will you have me tell our king? That we can't repress a defiance within our kingdom?"

"Your grace," lord Sagramore began carefully. "We shall not lay siege. We shall storm the city and sack it, if need be, and show to all the traitors where they belong."

Yrien was innocent in the craft of war, but even she raised her eyebrow at the wild suggestion. 

"Storm it? Lord Sagramore, do you have any idea about how many men I shall require to storm such a city?"

"Two thousand swords, your grace," Sagramore said in a humbled tone.

_No. Here he goes again. He will ask me to let Vyda Gaheris army come from behind the White Mountains and break Portstown. This is out of question. What if Vyda Gaheris recognizes Arthur as her king? Uther, after all, was Vyda's nephew. It's too dangerous._

"Storming a city of such a size is too costly for any army," Yrien concluded. "We shall start with a siege and then proceed. They may have access to sea trade, but the last time I checked, you can trade only for coins, and their coins will end sooner or later."

"But your grace, if you let one castle... "

"I will not let anybody defy the king!" Yrien jumped to her feet. "I am smart enough to proceed cautiously. Sir Logsheath, tell Sir Leon he is to lead his host to Gedref and lay siege to the castle and to Portstown. Write a letter to Lord Gloss of Chemary as well. Command him to raise no less than two hundred men. While Sir Leon and Lord Gloss keep Portstown and Gedref under siege, I shall invite Vyda Gaheris's son and grandson to discuss the terms of sending western army to attack Portstown."

"Which son?" Sagramore inquired. “And which grandson?”  

"Her elder son Safir and her grandson Caridoc."

_I shall only let Vyda Gaheris’s army attack Gedref if she agrees to send Safir and Caridoc to me as hostages. Thanks to this silly tourney we already have one of her grandsons... Vidor… If she agrees to terms, I will use Vyda’s army to smash Portstown and all of Arthur’s rebellion, and keep Vyda’s son and two of her grandsons as hostages in the castle of Camelot until the war's done._

The idea seemed jubilant, but Yrien suddenly wanted to start weeping when she imagined telling Rion how their kingdom was falling to pieces.

"In the meantime, my lords and ladies, before we begin discussing the tax reform, might I suggest that coronation of Prince Rion takes place the day after tomorrow?"

The way Sagramore winced at her proposal didn’t escape her gaze. _I could open his belly if I wanted to. In this very council room._

“Forgive me, your grace, but why hurry? Crowning prince Rion before the mourning runs due time… may be taken as ill omen, your grace,” Sagramore said, coughing mildly to mask his lack of confidence. “And with all the mood of the small folk and rumours traveling the Lower Town…”

_Rumours? Rumours?!_

“For all we know, the kingdom may be suffering two open rebellions! If the north is roused by this druid foolery, and the south – by this sickening phony!...” she screamed, running out of breath because of the anger choking her. “Then the kingdom must have a sovereign, the quicker – the better. We can overlook ill omens, dear lord secretary.”

“Then if the mourning is overlooked in the case of Rion’s coronation, can my daughter… and Sir Vidor hold a betrothal feast after coronation? Or does she have to wait for a full week to pass since Ryence’s death?”

_You whore can marry whoever she likes and be gone to any hell._

“Your daughter’s betrothal feast can take place earlier than expected,” Yrien agreed. “Now taxes. Our Councilor of Trade, shall we begin?”


	59. High Priestess

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana and Alvarr arrive at Idirsholas where Morgause is already waiting for them

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

The milky clouds were trying to hide the sky, but the stains of blue would pop up here and there as Morgana and Alvarr splashed the quiet flow of the river of Albus to feel safe in Andor once again. Some of the druids who had helped her take the fortress of Jarl had returned to the druid settlement in Andor with them; most, however, had remained in Essetir to ensure the safe passage of carts and wagons with food from Iseldir's clans to the castle of Idirsholas. _They will be escorting these cart and making sure nobody steals the food._

They had spent a night in Jarl's fortress and feasted their victory with generous supplies the slavetrader had stored in his keep. Before dawn, Morgana and Alvarr had mounted their stallions and commenced their journey home, to the druid camp behind the river Albus, bringing some of their fellow warriors and the freed slaves along. After reaching the camp, Morgana and Alvarr continued to the castle of Idirsholas.

They didn't need any companions this time, for three hundred more people had arrived at the settlement during the five days of Morgana's absence, and patrols had been established from Andor settlement to the castle of Idirsholas. In Andor Morgana learned that Morgause had already passed the camp and was on her way to Idirsholas, looking for Morgana. _She will be furious, but happy. She wanted me to solve a problem, and solve I did._

The increased level of safety was not the only reason why Morgana preferred to ride with Alvarr unaccompanied. They could not get enough of each other; they had made love after the feast in Jarl's fortress, and on their way to Idirshoals, they stopped in a grove where wind would whisper through the leaves, and colours would blush and dim as the clouds were traveling past the sun. She kept her hands on the tree branch, almost hanging on it and trying to arch her back as Alvarr was taking her from behind. When he'd speed up his thrusts, she'd not be able to hold silent, to keep her eyes closed and let the pleasure just well up; she'd moan and scream and redden at the sounds of her own wetness filled by Alvarr's cock. She'd ask him why it felt so good and pleaded him to never stop. She might have been a priestess of the Old Ways, but with his hands on her waist, she felt a simple girl again.

Afterward, they were lying on the green grass, naked and laughing, and she’d wrap her leg around his and kiss him gently, and then lie by his side and watch the drifting clouds.

“This one looks like a spear,” Alvarr said, pointing at the one that was crossing the sun.

“Where do you see a spear? That’s a ribbon,” Morgana smiled. “A white ribbon.”

“Have you been hit on your head in the fortress of Jarl? That’s most certainly a spear. “

“No it’s not.”

“Yes it is.”

“No it’s not.”

And then they were rolling on the ground in a fierce embrace of passion, the grass needles and flower petals pricking their skin, and she’d be laughing and smiling from his kisses, from his sour mouth that tasted like southern wine. There was all the dearness of summer behind the wide sprouted tree branches, and scents of nature that filled her heart and head with the desire to be one with the world, to live and to feel herself alive with every inhale and exhale.

“You think we shall tell your sister?” Alvarr asked as he was putting on his breeches. “Oh, well, I’m sorry and I know you don’t like that I bring her up when…”

“I don’t like when you bring her up with your hands beneath my gown,” Morgana corrected him. “At other times, however, we must not forget her. She will know, of course.”

“You mean she will see us? In some crystal?”

“Crystals don’t work,” Morgana said. “They stopped working last month and nobody knows why. All the seers are clueless. So Morgause will see nothing in a crystal. I wanted to say that she will know because I will tell her, because I haven’t escaped Uther’s castle to lead a double life again. I will be honest. I will tell her myself.”

_Why do I need to be afraid of her anyway? She’s my sister, not my mother. What will she do, talk me off and spank me? Lock me in some dark room for kissing the wrong boy? That’s ridiculous. I am a woman grown, not a child. Alvarr is mine. Not hers._

“I will be with you when you do. I think we shall do it together,” Alvarr said, fully dressed. There was a power of worship in his eyes as he kept looking at her naked body on the green carpet of the forest.

“Why?”

“I don’t know. She might… overreact. Druid boys and priestesses haven’t fallen in love for… for quite a while.”

“Why would I allow silly feuds of the past define my future, Alvarr?” Morgana put on her gown and tried to make her hair look a little less like a nest. “The quicker we learn to disregard those legends, the better.”

“You thought Emrys was a legend, too,” Alvarr reminded her as they mounted their horses.

“When I find him, I will see if he indeed has the power to command a dragon. For now, I am not sure.”

***

They arrived at Idirsholas in the early evening, having come across a dozen of patrols on their way. Banners with green dragon were gracing the curtain wall, and guards were walking it, keeping their watch. Morgana saw trenches with sharp stones, new wells and spikes in the ground along the perimeter of the curtain wall; there was still much work to do, but people had achieved quite a lot in five days. For now, the working sites were empty, for druids were massing for dinner in the Middle Level. Morgana could not believe how much the place had changed. When she led Alvarr’s group to inspect the castle for the first time, it resembled a labyrinth of ruins that could not be brought back to life, with grave secrets of the past haunting the once-splendid seat of Ashkanar. Now the town was filled with all sort of smells one could expect from a settlement: horse shit from the stables, cookfires that spoke of roasted rabbits and lamb, heavy smoke from the smithies that suggested steel was once again forged in Idirsholas. It appeared as though the rebels had brought up two hundred to accommodate at the castle, and thought to accommodate more.

“Your sister has been looking for you, Morgana,” one of the guards told her at the gates. “And if she doesn’t find you soon, she’s like to kill someone.”

Morgana and Alvarr exchanged nervous looks.

“Where is she?” Morgana asked.

“Been in the Watchtower. But then they brought some prisoners, some knight or mercenary and his squire, and she went to the cells. I reckon she’s in the Grey Keep now.”

“What had she told you before she went to Essetir?” Morgana asked Alvarr as they kept walking up the staircase that led to the Grey Keep.

“She told me she'd put my head on a spike and feed my useless body to the hounds if anything happened to you.”

“Good. Because nothing happened to me, and you did as she bid you. There is no need to think you’ve disobeyed anything. Besides, why would she command you? She holds no power in the druid hierarchy.”

“Her power resides in something other than official position,” Alvarr tried to lower his voice.

“I know. But I don’t lack power, too.”

 _Then why am I so nervous? Why am I trembling as though I am afraid of my sister, who gave me a healing bracelet in Camelot and saved me from Merlin’s poison? Why?_ Morgana knew something was wrong about her attitude to Mogause. _Not that her attitude isn’t flawed, but… I can imagine it. She’s spent many an effort trying to save me from the depraved clutches of Uther, and had anything gone wrong during the storming of Jarl’s fortress… Goddess, she doesn’t even know about Jarl’s fortress._

Long galleries of the Grey Keep were afire with torchlight, the ceilings had been cleaned of cobwebs and spiders, and the floor had been washed. Morgana shuddered as she imagined people trying to cast the bats out of the castle and she didn’t want to know how the druids had managed to make the bats fly away. Few guards had been posted in narrow corridors and galleries, and they all seemed to know Alvarr from somewhere. The two at the throne room were relieved to see her.

“Your sister is expecting you,” they told Morgana almost simultaneously as she appeared at the doors.

The doors swung open, and Morgana stormed into the hall, where Morgause looked almost lonely, seated on the heavy throne of the past dragonlords. The room had been washed, too, and black dust had not been crisping beneath Morgana’s feet, but candlelight was dancing only behind the columns to keep the room in twilight. She heard the guards close the door behind them and noticed Alvarr keep his hand on the hilt of his sword rather out of instinct.  

“You!” Morgause rose to her feet and the light went out of the hall and some force lifted Alvarr’s body off the floor up into the air, as though a dozen of invisible hands were pulling him up by his breeches, his tunic and his hair.  

“Morgause!” Morgana shrieked. “No!”

“Stay out of it!” her sister snapped. “I told you to guard her! How is taking her to Essetir related to guarding?!”

Alvarr couldn’t speak; he was choking, levitating in the air.

“Morgause, it was my idea, my own! I needed food fo…”

Alvarr’s face turned blue.

“The next time I see you closer than three steps to Morgana,” Morgause warned him. “You will learn that...”

“You will do no such thing!” Morgana’s outcry was strong and echoed off the walls. Morgause backed off awkwardly, hardly maintaining her balance; it looked as if somebody had pushed the priestess away. Alvarr fell on the floor and the sound of his inhale pierced the room; the candles were again on fire.

“Sister?!” Morgause mumbled, staring at Morgana in disbelief.

“He is _mine_. I love him. I...”

Morgause’s face seemed to have darkened, and her wavy hair seemed as white as the clouds Morgana was watching in the afternoon.

“Morgana,” she uttered after a long pause as Alvarr was struggling to rise back to his feet. “He is a simple renegade who...”

“… has always fought for what he believed was right. Morgause, I appreciate your help but if you ever threaten Alvarr again, I will go away. I swear.”

 _Don’t make. Don’t bloody make me._ Morgause’s gaze was intense and uncomfortable for Morgana, who feared the priestess was studying her, trying to rule out whether her threats were real. _Don’t bloody make me prove it._

“You are lucky my sister has a kind heart,” she finally told Alvarr. “Morgana, I didn’t mean to... I just thought... He has had many women, sister. I didn’t think he was a man worthy of you. He will leave us now.”

_I don’t want him to leave._

“Why?”

“We have talks to hold,” Morgause announced and her eyes gleamed golden. The doors opened, and the guards rushed into the hall. “Summon her.”

“Talks?” Morgana frowned.  

“An envoy from the crown is here. Lady Dindrane. Alvarr’s presence is not required.”

Alvarr sensed Morgana’s reluctance to part with him.

“Lady Dindrane will be happy to see me,” Alvarr suggested. “She has been funding my activity for a long time.”

“Fine,” Morgause’s look suddenly became a study of apathy. “Stay, if you wish.”

 


	60. Something More

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin leads Lancelot and Osric out of the castle of Idirsholas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

The lad from the Camelot patrol was silent as if he had swallowed his own tongue. _He probably regrets joining us_ , Merlin thought. _Well, the cells can seem safer than where we are now._ Truth be told, Merlin couldn't tell where exactly they were. A stone maze it was, with immense endless walls that soon turned into cave walls, shifting and changing in the dim light cast by the tip of his wand. _These are not ordinary caves_ , Merlin felt at once. _They were paved with magic._

The narrow corridor led them to a hall where Merlin noticed faded tapestries that reflected the light of his wand with their own ill gloom. There were two doors that led out of the hall, and they had chosen the one which opened a corridor that led them down; Merlin's wand shone brighter, for there were stairs, dozens endless stairs, some circular, some turning into small narrow bridges thrown over what appeared to be endless voids. Their steps and their breaths were echoing heavily, but the lower they went, the broader their echoes grew.

"What can this be?" Merlin wondered. He had a feeling he knew what it was, the place seemed almost familiar.

"When we'd get bored..." Lancelot replied cautiously.

"Who - we?"

"Other mercenaries whom I joined in Tir-Mor," he explained. "When we'd get bored, we'd often tell each other stories, and some man spoke of the doom of Idirsholas. He said that dragonlords had dug caves beneath Idirsholas, but when Ashkanar was exiled, he cursed this castle and something else came to live in the caves, something so dangerous and cruel that even the dragons were scared of it, and it's the reason why people would never try and live in Idirsholas after Ashkanar's flight."

Merlin turned around and saw the Camelot lad look as if he was considering to die from the heart attack. Merlin rolled his eyes. _Does Lance really think it's wise to share such stories now? The lad's like to faint._

"Listen," Merlin asked a man with unwashed hair falling to his shoulders. "What's your name?"

"Osric," he said, fighting tears.

"Listen, Osric. Where you come from?"

"Woodspeak."

"Osric from Woodspeak, I promise, there's nothing to fear. I have magic, a powerful one. If there is any doom in these caves, I will defeat it, I will. This is just some secret passage to the caves from the keep. The caves _must_ have an exit, otherwise the dragons wouldn’t get here, right? These caves were made for dragons, not for this stupid doom or something. We’re not lost. You’ve seen the rock that towers over the castle? We must be there."

The lad nodded. Lancelot didn't look frightened at all. _Of course. He has a sword now. Poor guard of the cells... I fear Morgause can do terrible things to him once she learns we've escaped._

Suddenly, Merlin realized the darkness around the tip of his wand was getting thicker. He tried to raise his wand a little higher and realized the light was not bright enough to reach the ceiling. _There's no more ceiling._

"Where are we now?" Lancelot asked and covered his mouth with his hand - so loud was his echo.

"Some big hall," Osric suggested.

"Not a hall. It's a pit," Merlin whispered as his eyes adjusted to the darkness and he spotted the shapes in the distant part of the pit: grey heads with massive jaws. The emptiness between the bones in the place where eyes of the dragons were supposed to be was cavernous. Osric tried to edge away from the skulls.

"Don't worry. They are dead. Been dead for a long time," Merlin said. _They must be. There are no more dragons except for Kilgharrah._ "And look!"

A source of light appeared ahead of them, so bright it made them shield their eyes. This source kept growing as they hurried towards it: it was an arched mouth of the cave, large enough for a dragon to squeeze himself in. Merlin realized why the secret passages felt familiar. _They are just like Kilgharrah's caves._ The light was so welcome after the blackness of the tunnels that Osric looked like a wanderer who had traveled through a desert and was about to drink his first water in three days. _We barely spent an hour here. Or so it seems._

"Lance, you will walk out of this cave once the sun begins to set," Merlin told him. "It exits the rock of the castle, they won't spot you from towers, the rock would be blocking their view."

"What do you mean? Aren't you planning to walk out of this cave with us? Are you planning to live here now?"

"I..."

Morgause's grimace was on his mind. _Why would a lowly servant would want to risk everything for Arthur and for Camelot? I thought there had to be some reason, something I couldn’t see, something you were not telling me. After all, why would you put your own life on the line time and again?_

_Because I love him. And I won't let any harm come to him. He’s my idiot king._

"I must know what Morgause is up to. I must. Lance, remem..."

"She threatened guards wouldn't find what's left of you!" Lancelot protested, trying to breathe some understanding into Merlin by grabbing him and shaking him by the shoulders. "You want to be lying next to these skulls in this damned cave?!"

"Lance," Merlin put his hand on Lancelot's arm and gave him the most reassuring look. "I am stronger than you give me credit for. It's not only about the dragon. I have magic. And with this wand, I feel I can break skies and make them afire with thunder, and make the lightnings rain on Morgause. I fear her no more."

_Or almost no more._

"I will send you two horses by sunset. Just stay in the forest."

"Send us two horses? Bloody how?"

"When Morgause wanted Arthur to find her, she somehow enchanted his horse, so that she knew the way. I will do the same. Just... give me your hair. Both of you."

"You'll work no ill on us? With this hair?" Osric asked with a trembling voice.

"No. I will help you go to Woodspeak. Lance, please, see that he comes home. And remember, if you hear news of Arthur's rebellion when you come to Camelot, make sure Gwen and Gwaine go south with you."

Lancelot gave a short nod. _He doesn’t fancy the idea that Gwaine is watching over Gwen._

"Merlin, you know what?"

"What?"

"You're completely insane! Stay safe, old friend, I beg you."

Merlin hugged Lancelot and rushed back into the darkness, his heels scraping against the rough stone as he tried not to stumble upon dragon teeth.

"Who is this Arthur the warlock spoke of? What rebellion did he mean?" Merlin heard Osric's voice behind his back.

"I don't know," Lancelot lied.

***

Merlin's ascend of the stairs was quicker, so quick in fact that his footsteps produced no echo, only soft scrape against the stone. The tunnels, bridges and passages were a lot easier to understand. _This is simply a path to the dragon pit from the main keep. It's no labyrinth at all._ When he finally revisited the hall with faded tapestries where they had chosen the right door, Merlin pushed the left one open. It had a corridor, too, but ended soon with an iron gate. Merlin directed his wand at the gate and let a gust of terrible force tear the iron doors apart with a clangor that resembled a wilddeoren shriek in the tunnels of Andor.

Behind the iron gates was a square chamber with four doors, each barred with iron as well. Merlin chose the leftmost door and started waddling along in his wand light's wake. The tunnel was of bone-chilling coldness despite the end of July. After some time, though, he felt a different, warm air flowing in the dark. Merlin started walking slowly, for the height of the ceiling was decreasing, and walking upright was a bigger problem than he could imagine. Soon he began counting steps in his head in case he'd have problems finding his way back. And then they came, voices from the dark.

They were rising from beneath his feet, and Merlin had to lie and press his left ear to the cold stone. They were muffled and too hard to distinguish at first. Merlin crawled a little further, to a place where the stone seemed the thinnest and the words became clear.

"...has amassed great army, they say. Two thousand swords at least," it was the same voice he had once heard in the crypts in the castle of Camelot: sweet like honey mixed with mint, but firm as nutshell. _That old woman._ "My useless cousin was meant to put them at the king’s command but he never returned from behind the White Mountains. Vyda will never stomach the lift of magic ban."

 _The lift of magic ban? Who will lift a magic ban? Only a king can do such thing._ Merlin could hear his own breath.

"She will not live long enough to witness it," Morgause’s voice was as certain as though all the futures were known to priestess. "I mean to remove her and her army from the face of the earth."

"Oh, how awkwardly do your views complement each other in this matter," old woman laughed. "I think she would want to do the same with the druids. You know, when Uther's first raids failed because the druids went into hiding, so deep into the woods that even Uther's brave knights would suffer pools of piss in their breeches when they'd try and find camps, Vyda arrived at the castle and demanded burning all the forests and the druids with them. She would tell Uther that he needed to trap them and kill them while he could. Otherwise druids would spread through this land like a disease, she insisted. She is mad. Was mad many years ago, and is as mad as a hunting hound now. What fears me is that if Vyda and Ryence join forces..."

"They will not. I will see to it," Morgause said.

"My lady!" this voice belonged with a man.

"Speak," Morgause replied lazily.

The man's voice was a storm of shock.  

"There is a rider! Of House Dindrane, from the castle of Camelot! He carries peace banner! He needs to see Anna Dindrane, he says. Claims the king is dead!!!"

 _Ryence?! Dead?! What is happening? Is Arthur storming the castle? If so..._ Merlin felt he couldn't waste a moment. _I need to be with him. I..._

"Morgause?" the old voice betrayed nervousness. "Is this your doing?"

"I have nothing to do with it. Nothing. I swear. I swear on the tombstones of the Isle of the Blessed. Bring him in!"

"If this is Vyda’s work..." the old voice complained. "But this can’t be! The castle is infested with Gingawaine’s bannermen and guards. Removing the king would change nothing!.. It would only make matters worse, for his sister will assume regency..."

Merlin heard enough. _Ryence is dead, or so this rider from the castle of Camelot wants them to believe.... But if he is dead, if Ryence somehow died, then it's the best chance, the best time, Arthur has to reveal himself and the lords will all recognize him..._

Could it be that Arthur had killed Ryence? _No. We agreed on it. I swore an oath. He made me swear an oath, he asked me to come to Gedref. I must go to Gedref at once!_

_Arthur, Arthur, I'm coming, don't do anything stupid, please!_


	61. Duty and Desire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana, Morgause and Alvarr meet the envoy of Camelot crown - Anna of House Dindrane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

It was the most awkward silence Morgana had ever endured. Nothing, not even the suppers with Uther could compare to the minutes they spent waiting for Lady Dindrane. _Suppers with Uther... Gloomy, wordless and full of cold hatred... After he began to suspect my defiance could imply more than words, when he began to fear it was me who could have freed Alvarr, he would invite guests to join us at dinners, and make me behave in their presence, trade courtesies when in fact I was ready to stab his eyes with my fork. Oh, Uther, you were lucky to die without my help._

Watching Alvarr and Morgause share a hall after the scene when the priestess had nearly made Alvarr choke to death while he was hanged in the air outdid all the embarrassment she'd suffered at the castle of Camelot. It felt like an ungainly dance on thin ice; Alvarr chose to stand close to her and kept clearing his throat. Morgause was back to the throne of dragonlords, a peculiar scene of its own. _A priestess from the Isle of the Blessed sitting the throne of dragonlords. Iseldir would have gone mad the instant._

"Why, if I had been Ashkanar, I would have abandoned this grim crypt for good, too," a soft honey-mint voice broke the silence in the hall. "It's not that hard to understand why he chose to go south. This place can make my bones freeze."

Morgana turned around to behold the most wrinkled woman she had ever seen and remembered so well from the court. She was so short that she could be mistaken for a girl had she not worn the old-fashioned dress and a number of shawls to help her hide her white hair, bluish at the ends, from sun. _She walks without guards._

"Lady Dindrane," Morgana couldn't help but smile at the first person to remind her of the castle life. "I confess it’s... odd meeting you under new circumstances."

"Lady Morgana," Anna replied with a toothless smile. "I confess I didn’t believe it when I heard it. I hope you bear no ill will towards me, child? I never liked to bother you at court."

"Indeed. You behaved as though I didn’t exist, which was very kind."

"You were overburdened enough with all the attention Uther was putting on you. He’d show you off like a pretty caged bird. I thought an old hen like me would be too much, was I wrong?"

"I am sure we shall all discover great fondness between us if we explore tidings of the past," Morgause's words descended the throne. "However, it is the future we need to discuss."

"Nicely said, Priestess," Anna nodded. "Oh, what a dark hall you've chosen, I'm as good as blind here. But Goddess, is it Alvarr that I’m seeing or am I indeed going blind?

"My lady," Alvarr bowed down.

"Oh, stop kneeling, you naughty-naughty boy. You've known me long enough," Anna came to put a motherly kiss on Alvarr's cheeks. "You’ve been working your gold off, I give you that. The castle of Idirsholas! The ancient seat of my ancestors, where Ashkanar would... And banners of green dragon, they _did_ please me."

Alvarr put on a shiny content expression. Morgana's eyes were agleam with the strongest sense of disbelief. _Working her gold off? Her gold? Goddess, this woman had the guts to be a part of Uther's court and to fund renegades that cause some troubles for the crown... Did she fear for her head?_ Morgause's cough was that of annoyance.

"I assume King Ryence hasn’t sent you just to be _pleased_ with green dragon banners?"

"Oh, he didn’t. I confess, when he invited me to the king's lodge at the tourney, I feared the old bear was looking forward to seducing me. A relief he only asked me to find the Druid leaders that chose to rebel against the crown and hold talks with them."

"Hold talks? You mean, threaten us?" Morgana smirked.

"She’s smart," Anna pointed at Morgana and walked closer to Morgause's throne. "Well, yes child he does intend to threaten the Druids in the end. Does it shock you? Your rebellion, after all, may cause his crown a lot of troubles. But first, he wants to learn how _far_ you can go to threaten him.

"Five thousand swords will be here in a fortnight," Morgause was quick to present her understanding of _far_.

_She said the same thing nearly a week ago. If her plans bore fruit, Cenred's army ought to arrive in a week, but she says fortnight again. Has something gone amiss with the King of Essetir?_

"Five thousand swords?" Anna's eyelashes were flapping like wings of a scared bird. "You really want to go all the way this time, don’t you?

"We shall lift the ban on magic and recognize Druids and sorcerers all over the kingdom. Or die trying," Morgause's tone left no space for doubts.

Anna chuckled.

"Vyda Gaheris would _love_ it. The second part. About dying in attempt. She has amassed great army, they say. Two thousand swords at least. My useless cousin was meant to put them at the king’s command but he never returned from behind the White Mountains. Vyda will never stomach the lift of magic ban."

"She will not live long enough to witness it," Morgause said dismissively. "I mean to remove her and her army from the face of the earth."

"Oh, how awkwardly do your views complement each other in this matter!" Anna laughed, even though the matters they discussed belonged with no humour. "I think she would want to do the same with the druids. You know, when Uther's first raids failed because the druids went into hiding, so deep into the woods that even Uther's brave knights would suffer pools of piss in their breeches when they'd try and find camps, Vyda arrived at the castle and demanded burning all the forests and the druids with them. She would tell Uther that he needed to trap them and kill them while he could. Otherwise druids would spread through this land like a disease, she insisted. She is mad. Was mad many years ago, and is as mad as a hunting hound now. What fears me is that if Vyda and Ryence join forces..."

"They will not. I will see to it," Morgause's promise made Morgana mourn Vyda Gaheris alive.

Suddenly, they were interrupted by a guard, who looked as though he had just been to dragon caves of the castle and seen the doom of Idirsholas.

"My lady!"

"Speak," Morgause said, eying him curiously.

_She knows guards are more than reluctant to disturb her. Something must have happened._

"There is a rider! Of House Dindrane, from the castle of Camelot! He carries peace banner! He needs to see Anna Dindrane, he says. Claims the king is dead!!!"

Morgause sprang to her feet; Alvarr's hand clutched the hilt of his sword, and Morgana’s gaze was jumping from Anna Dindrane to the priestess back and forth. Her cheeks were burning. _What is happening?_

"Morgause?" Anna uttered. "Is this your doing?"

"I have nothing to do with it. Nothing. I swear. I swear on the tombstones of the Isle of the Blessed. Bring him in!"

_The king is dead. The main question is: how?_

"If this is Vyda’s work..." Anna looked like she was about to break her own fingers. "But this can’t be! The castle is infested with Gingawaine’s bannermen and guards. Removing the king would change nothing!.. It would only make matters worse, for his sister will assume regency!"

When a dark-haired man entered the room, Anna recognized him at once.

"Oldof!"

"My lady," he bowed down, serving a hateful look to Morgause and Alvarr. "I was sent to find you by your son, the good sir Tawton. He urges you to return as soon as possible. I left Camelot yesterday at dawn to find you."

"What happened?"

"The king is dead."

"When?"

"The day before yesterday, or should I say... On the night between yesterday and the day before yesterday."

"And who rules in his stead?"

"Lady Yrien," Oldof replied.

"Goddess save us all. The kingdom is doomed," Anna said in a voice that made it hard to distinguish humour from fear. "What happened to the king?"

"I can’t know, your grace. They rang the bells and lady Yrien was to address the court... But I left before that."

"Good. Now wait for me outside," Anna commanded. "We are to leave for Camelot soon. I imagine Yrien thinks I'm here plotting with you."

"Are you not?" Morgause smiled. "If Ryence is dead, his pup of a nephew is to inherit the kingdom. This is our chance."

"Why do you priestesses always see chances where blood is shed? Whatever. Speak. I _must_ bring the Queen some terms. Else I will follow Ryence and Uther."

"Our terms are simple," Morgause started counting fingers. "Lift the magic ban. Marry prince Rion to Morgana. In return we shall pledge five thousand swords to the crown and become loyal servants of the throne. Speaking of servants... Morgana, the boy. Merlin. He is here. In the cells."

Morgause's sudden announcement of Merlin upset Morgana's verbal attack on the proposition of marrying her to prince Rion. _Merlin?! In the cells?! No, no, no! Why, why does he keep stalking me? Why does he keep following me? Why, why, why can't he let me be?!_ It appeared that his name had an air of magic about it, for Morgana couldn't think of a different reason to explain the seizures of uttermost horror whenever she heard someone say "Merlin." She could not understand why a simple servant seemed to radiate more threat and malice than Jarl, Uther and all the other people who were trouble _. I defied them and defeated them, and I shall defeat Merlin as well._

"Merlin?" Anna Dindrane sounded puzzled. "Wasn’t that a name of prince Arthur’s serving boy? Or beating boy, from what I saw Arthur would do to him in the training field..."

"That’s him," Morgause nodded. "Morgana, we’ve captured him. He is serving some other mercenary now and..." 

"That’s impossible," Anna shook her head. "The boy died in the patrol with the prince." 

"Arthur would have never taken him to patrol mission, Merlin's too unqualified," Morgana whispered, ashamed of the weakness of her voice. She felt Alvarr take her hand, and she felt braver. His silent presence by her side was enough to lift her spirits. _I must not fear. He can't threaten me from the cells._

"The whole castle was seeing them off. My lady, Arthur led the noblest of the patrols into Brechfa. Five boys, four of them heirs to the great lords and ladies. Merlin was with them, I swear," Anna repeated stubbornly.

"That is odd," Morgause eyes shone malignly. "Alvarr, please, go bring him here. My lady, will you wait for me outside? I require some privacy to speak to my sister. After that, I shall go to the castle of Camelot with you."

Anna winked at Morgana on her way out of the hall; Alvarr, too, hurried to the cells to escort Merlin to the hall.  

“Why will you go to Camelot with Lady Dindrane?”

“To meet Sir Vidor, seal his doom and make the throne of Camelot and westerners fall apart forever,” the priestess was vibrant with power.

"What am I to do with him?" Morgana asked fearfully. "With Merlin?" 

"Teach him a lesson. Make him regret poisoning you," Morgause shrugged. "He doesn't deserve to die easily, if you ask me."

"I... I don’t think I want to see him at all..."

"Morgana, listen. You fear him. You must overcome your fear," Morgause took her by the hand. "You must learn to deal with your enemies." 

_I can deal with enemies. But Merlin’s not an enemy. He is a cold-hearted murderer who would serve poison to his friends._

"Morgause, what you said about Rion… I can't marry prince Rion."

"King Rion," Morgause corrected her. "A green boy he may be, but he is now King of Camelot. You can become Queen and..."

"I love Alvarr. I can't marry Rion," Morgana repeated with dogged determination.

"Sister, marriage is not about love! This union is political. It is our safest way to legitimise magic, how can you not understand?! Marrying Rion doesn't mean you'll have to bed him. You can give him a potion that would make his manhood never work again, if you like. There are many other potions to keep him out of your bed and..."

"Morgause, I can't, I can't, I simply can't!" Morgana nearly screamed. "I am a warrior, not a politician. I was meant to fight. I've stormed Jarl's fortress!"

"What!?!" Morgause flared with shock. "Morgana, how could you be so irresponsible?!"

"That's what I do, that's what I am good at. I can storm fortresses and inspect old castles and prepare them for the garrisons of soldiers, and... a lot more, but please, don't ask me to wear a marriage ring and a beautiful gown and serve as some... I just can't do it. I will bleed for freedom, for magic's return to the realm, but I will not marry Rion. Please."

"On your head be it," the blow was terrible, but Morgause masked it well. "Anna Dindrane has granddaughters. We can marry one of them to Rion... They belong with the last druid dynasty, after all."

_Yes, please, please, marry one of Anna's granddaughters to Rion. Please._

"Speaking of druid dynasties. Sister, when I was in Essetir, I took your bracelet off, for I needed to see... a dream. A vision. A prediction."

"And what is it you saw?" Morgause asked mystifyingly.

"Morgause, what if I told you that dragonlords may not be dead? That there can still be one last dragonlord?"

"Morgana, your visit to Essetir hasn't passed unnoticed," the priestess snorted. "Look at you, preaching the legend of Emrys. What next?"

"Balinor died last month. He was a dragonlord."

"Indeed he was. But as you've accurately mentioned, he died. He is dead."

"Everybody thought he died a long time ago! What if he... He could have had children, right?"

Morgana’s words cast a shadow of fear on the priestess's face.

"What have you seen?"

"The boy. The boy Merlin once brought into my chambers. Mordred. He is just a boy, a druid boy. He was hiding in the castle from Uther’s guards. He could talk to me in my head, he was powerful. More powerful than some sorcerers. What if Mordred is... son of Balinor?"

"What makes you think so?"

"Iseldir told me he met the last dragonlord. He told me I met him, too. In the castle of Camelot. He told me this dragonlord didn't know of his powers. Morgause, I met Mordred in the castle. He is not an ordinary boy, he helped Alvarr steal the crystal of Neahtid. He's..."

"This Mordred must be found," Morgause said nervously. "If there is truth in your and Iseldir’s guesses... Then we must seize him, we must have the last dragonlord under our control. We..."

Alvarr ran into the hall, breathless.

"Morgause, I don't know whom you've captured... but there is nobody in the cells. They are empty!"

 


	62. Princess Mithian

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Mithian flee Nemeth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

They had spent three days riding down a deep river that was flowing into the Merchant's Bay, with only a handful of fisherfolk living on its banks. The farther westward, however, the bigger the villages turned, and boats camping at dozens of small quays were getting bigger, too. At quays, one could always notice children play and wait for their fathers and elder brothers to return from fishing.

Arthur knew he and Mithian looked quite like some fisherfolk couple when they arrived at the first village, in their clothes soaked with moat and drain water. They radiated such a stench that three inkeepers had turned them down, cursing at them and promising the dogs would learn to talk before people like Arthur and Mithian would be admitted to their inns.

Were inns a safe option? Wasn't it better to sleep beneath the open sky? In truth, Arthur never saw an answer to questions he couldn’t shut down in his head. Nothing seemed safe, not even the chance to spend their night behind some castle wall. He was the king of Camelot and was accompanying princess of Nemeth on her run from her father's kingdom. _Why, that almost sounds like a fairy-tale or a bedtime story. A prince saves a princess._

Except for in his case, everything was the opposite. It was Mithian who saved him, Mithian who guided him through drainage system of palace in the moat, and through the canals of Lydon behind the Rose Wall. They crossed the gates of the Brown Wall easily, for Lydon's watch implied heavy inspection of those who enter the city rather than of those who intend to leave. At a smaller town to the west, they bought two horses from the merchant who clearly charged thrice their price. But they had no time for bargains and paid what the man demanded. _At least he didn't ask questions about our look and smell._

Arthur took the watch on the first night, listening to every noise in the darkness behind the door. He spent the night in fears, worrying that every bark of a dog could mean Rodor’s men had caught up with them, and Arthur was happy to cross the border with Deorham on the second day of their ride. Nothing seemed to speak of the borderline, though, and Mithian's words about the absence of control proved right.

"I told you," Mithian said with a smile. "If you're looking for a vigilant king, you shouldn't come to Deorham."

A vigilant king was the last thing they needed, for Arthur was sure that by the end of the second day a part of Nemeth's court was probably sending horsemen to block the border with Nemeton and stop every maid, hoping to discover princess Mithian in disguise. _Merlin must face no such problem._ _Nobody ever paid much attention to my servant, he can travel without fear of being recognized._ _Just stay safe, my wandering star, I promise I won’t fail you, I will be in Gedref on time. See that you’re not late, too. Else I’ll throw you in the stocks. And kiss you._  

Mithian's story had made Arthur think about all the terrible things that could happen to a kingdom and a king. _Would such situation be possible under father’s reign? Would a part of court ever grow so strong that even a king like Uther would be helpless against their power and influence? Could their dominion over realm diminish the role of the sovereign?_

Those were the thoughts that paved his way to sleep on the second night, but they all melted away when Merlin rose in his visions, smiling and running from him on the training field. Arthur was chasing him, trying to grab him, to pull Merlin into an embrace and never let him go so far from him again, but he couldn’t catch Merlin. He just couldn’t. 

They reached the shore on the third day of their ride, and entered a large town called Seagate, spread by the deep-blue sea. Liberation was in the air, the fragrance of salty water mixed with sea wind that spoke of distant shores and adventures in unexplored lands. Mithian had bought sand-silk pants, woven grass sandals and a painted vest at the bazaar before they went to the docks. They lay in the poorer part of Seagate; as Arthur and Mithian followed the streets of modest brick houses, Arthur saw a lot more beggars than he'd ever spot in the Lower Town; the dogs were skinny, and children looked underfed as well. A lot of people were standing beneath the arched doorways and watched them pass the street curiously, for even in her modest attire, Mithian did look beautiful.

The streets grew more peopled as they were approaching the docks through the district with grim stone warehouses, with bazaars and markets settled between them, and the world soon turned into a riot of colours, smells, shouts, whistles and clangor. There appeared whores and gaming houses on the streets, places where Arthur saw stiff lads enroll their names in the crew lists of trade galleys or pirate ships, depending on who was promising to pay more. Money-changers were shouting loud, trying to seduce richer walkers with better rates for gold to silver exchanged.

"Watch your purse," Mithian warned him. "Thieves are numberless here."

Arthur felt his purse sway on his chest beneath his tunic, together with moonstone. If there were thieves, they were not easy to tell by the look on their face. However, pirates were rather obvious; they were wandering around the kiosks and stalls, with drinks that smelled fiery and spicy. Arthur heard them trade jokes about whores, swords and sea gods.

Everything seemed to be for sale, everything could be sold and bought - if the two could agree on the price and if the buyer would not ask much about where the good had come from. Silver could acquire daggers, elixirs, gowns, swords, cherries, furniture, not to mention onyx and amethyst.

Mithian led Arthur past long stone and wooden quays where workers were off-loading goods and uploading them to sail on the evening tide. Princess explained that the most expensive galleys would stop at farther quays of the horseshoe-shaped harbor. The ships had sails of Trade Companies, of Pirates, of Cornwall, of Gawant, and seldom of Deorham herself.

"We need to find an expensive ship," she told him. "Otherwise... the crew may sell us to the highest bidder. A good captain will always understand he can rather ask more from us once we reach Portstown. People who can pay much usually have more gold home."

"We can dismount his ship in Portstown and be gone," Arthur objected. "Why would he put any tru..."

"He will keep me aboard and wait for you to return with more gold."

And so they kept going from quay to quay, looking for the best ship that was sailing northward of the Merchant Bay. Finally, they found a captain of a rich trading galley that was sailing from Seagate to Portstown and then to Inkwave, the capital of Gawant. He was a stout, broad-shouldered man who agreed to let them aboard if they paid half the sum in advance. Arthur was ready to strike a bargain, but Mithian spent a quarter of an hour arguing with the captain and trying to lower the price.

"Why were you doing this?" Arthur wondered when they got on the decks.

"Arthur, we mustn't give the impression that we're ready to spend gold so easily. It's suspicious, everybody is trying to buy everything for a lower price at the market. We mustn't be an exception."

The galley was skimming the dark-blue waves, propelled by good-tempered wind that let the rowers rest for now. Mithian was holding the rails and looking out over the shore. _Raunchy Mermaid_ had too low a setting and the captain didn't want to risk going into an open sea, and thus the shore line kept passing overboard. Sea agreed with Mithian, and Arthur enjoyed watching the wind play with her hair and the sunset-basked sheets of water mirrored in the sad black of her tired eyes. The sea was swaying and foaming at the dark-brown and yellow smoothness of Doerham coastline.

“Have you ever imagined that at some point in your life you’d be fleeing your own kingdom on a trading galley with a prince whose claim on his own throne would be disputed?” Arthur asked as he approached to stand by her side and hold the rails.

“No,” she smiled. “No, to be honest, I’ve never dreamed of that. But I guess our dreams don’t always come true. Sad as it is.”

“You dreamed of ruling Nemeth one day?”

“Me? No, never. Gods be good, Arthur, I was the third child of a king, I never expected to rule. I grew up with different expectations,” she said, turning around and watching Seagate disappear as the galley was taking her away into the unknown.

“What expectations?”

“Those of happiness. I really was a happy baby girl. I remember those days so well, they were the happiest time of my life, I think. I would live between Darkpine and Lydon all the time. Darkpine is where my mother comes from, it’s in the north-eastern Nemeth, close to the border with Nemeton and Balor. Oh, it was such a lovely place for a girl like me. I’d go hunting and… Well, I was growing up a dexterous girl, yearning for fighting, horse-riding, forest exploration. Come winter, I would travel to Lydon to live at father’s court. There it was all different. There they called me princess and made me sing and learn poetry, learn dancing with my nephews…”

“Your nephews?”

 Some people were still on the riggings since the galley had just begun its voyage into the evening, and golden path of sunset stretching far west along the peaceful sea. The frenetic pace of crew’s activity that dominated the exit from the port of Seagate was fading the further Seagate was sliding out of view.  

“Father had been married before he wed my mother. He had two sons with Lady Constance: Devon and Armag. They were both men grown, they’d wed and had children by the time I started visiting Lydon,” even though Mithian tried to speak with respect, it was clear that the name of  her father’s first wife could force her to curse and spit and cry. “My brother Devon had a son of my age, his name’s Rabos. And my second brother, Armag, had a son Retvor, two years younger than me. But we had fun anyway. I called Rabos and Retvor brothers, not really understanding they were my nephews. Then came war with Essetir.”

“Cenred?”

“Cenred?” Mithian smiled, bemused by the sight of some fish accompanying the galley, jumping out of water now and then. “Cenred was a baby with his mother’s milk still on his lips when it happened. It was King Quichelm, Cenred’s uncle. He waged war on us, although in such a disgusting manner… He never invaded Nemeth. He invaded Kent and seized the road to Londinium. You know the road to Londinium?”

“It’s the great road, or so they call it. It runs from Gawant to Gedref to Nemeth to Kent to Tir-Mor,” Arthur repeated Geoffrey’s lesson by heart.

“Right. King Quichelm wanted to control this road in Kent and make us pay him great sums so that he’d let our merchants pass and use this road.”

“And your brothers went to war,” Arthur guessed.  

“Of course they did. They were princes, after all, they were meant to fight for Nemeth and to protect our land. Sadly, Devon and Armag both perished in war, and I became the heir to Nemeth’s throne. I was seven. It was after it that everything changed.”

“Devon’s and Armag’s widows?”

“Well, they were too consumed by grief at first. Father sent me to Irios, saying that Darkpine was too close to border with Essetir. And so mother and I came to live in our kingdom’s southern port, and I never traveled to Darkpine again. They stopped teaching me silly things like songs and poetry. They started teaching me how to rule. My brothers’ sons kept living in Lydon, under careful watch of the court and soon it became clear that there were too many people who’d rather see Rabos on the throne after my father… you know. And I wouldn’t mind. I couldn’t care less. But there were some merchant companies from the south who… who view this as an insult to the traditions of Nemeth. To our gods. To the stability of the kingdom. Our throne is always passed from monarch to eldest child, be it a boy or a girl. They insist that the tradition is followed this time, too.”

“Haven’t you… tried to make them understand you don’t want to be a queen?”

“That would be an insult against our faith and our laws, Arthur. I can be charged with treason.”

Tears were shimmering in her eyes, but there was something about the way she’d cry: it didn’t make her look weak, it made her look genuine. _To think that I’ve laughed at Merlin who looked like he was about to cry at the sight of every stray kitten in the Lower Town…_

“Well, I promise you, once… once I deal with Ryence, I will solve your problem,  Mithian.”

“Thank you, Arthur. You are very kind.”

The sunset path on the sea turned from golden to red. The coast line to the right was harder to distinguish, and to the left, the immensity of the blue sea was disappearing in the darkfall. For the first time since escaping palace of Lydon, Arthur felt safe. _Time to go below decks and have some sleep._  

“Arthur?”

“What?”

“When you came to Lydon, you were wearing this… strange jewelry.”

“I don’t wear jewelry,” Arthur laughed.  

“Well, this gleaming stone. It’s very interesting,” Mithian smiled.

“Oh, it _is_ interesting.”

“Is it a gift?”

“In some way, yes.”

“Does it come from this princess Elena of Gawant? Your betrothed?”

“I’m not sure she’s my betrothed any longer. She probably thinks I’m dead,” Arthur giggled when he recalled Merlin acting jealous in Ealdor. _So now you’re telling me you’re betrothed? After all the time we’ve been together?! Merlin, you little jealous thing, if you ever play a joke with me again, I swear…_

“But you still love her? That’s why you keep wearing her gift?” Mithian pressed the point.

_I barely remember the way she looks._

“I… well, not really. It’s not her gift. But it’s from someone I love.”

_And from someone I will drag to Gedref royal bedchambers and not let him out until we’re both satisfied. It’s been so long since…._

“Oh, Arthur. I would give up my own kingdom to be so loved. By the way, why did this stone stop shining?”

Arthur hands were shaking feverishly when he grabbed the medallion with moonstone that was blue no more _. Merlin_. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So surreal to watch Volume IV "Kingdoms and courts" come to a close! The last four chapters will be set in the castle of Camelot: "Unthinkable" and "Vidor" for Gwen POV, and "Crown of Tears" and "A Helping Hand" for Yrien POV. 
> 
> From chapter 67, the last Volume V "The Last Dragonlord" will be unleashed! <3 
> 
> Oh, my, this fic has been such a joy to write and now that it's nearing the close I feel a little sad :( 
> 
> Arthur has 8 chapters left, Yrien has 4 chapters left, Morgana has 3 chapters left, Gwen has 3 chapters left and Merlin has 2 chapters left, and they are all the craziest chapters ! <3


	63. Unthinkable

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen and Gwaine have a tiny little chat on the morning of Rion's coronation day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen POV

It was Gwaine’s first day-off in a week. Ever since the King’s Tourney, the reconstruction of the Lower Town proceeded in a pace that would seem bewildering to some people and concerning to others. The crown had rarely been involved in building constructions of civil purpose at such speed, and it looked suspicious. The workers were hurrying as though they were raising a holdfast for the war to come, not the houses for commoners. _But these are just houses._

Only the fourth day after king Ryence’s death was declared a day-off, for prince Rion’s coronation was to take place in the throne hall of the castle. No events were planned for the Lower Town and the commoners, though: no feasts, no jousts, no celebrations whatsoever. Neither Prince Rion nor his mother had been seen outside the castle since the night King Ryence died.

Gaius had explained nothing. Gwen had returned to his service the day before yesterday and spent a good half-an-hour crying in the old physician’s arms. She was so sorry to look at him, feeling there was a part of her guilt about Gaius’s withered look, bony cheeks and paler face. The days and nights he had spent confined within the Western Tower were a blow to his health, Gwen could see it, everybody could see it. _But he’s a physician, he must help himself, he knows all the cures in the world._

Gaius told her it was no longer safe to discuss certain matters in the castle. After each of them had spent some time in the cells, after each of them had learnt various shades of Yrien’s monstrosity, they were both reluctant to lose their freedom again. Only once Gaius wrote a note she read before the physician threw the parchment into flames.

 _You must wait for Merlin to bring news about Arthur before leaving the castle,_ it said.

The day before yesterday Gwen heard the servants of some great houses trade whispers about some letters that had arrived at the castle, the letters that were worrying lords and ladies alike – but Gwen hadn’t seen such letter and wasn’t foolish to ask for a spare copy. _Something could be happening._

In the laze of sunny morning, she was spending all the time she needed on preparation for the coronation ceremony. Gauis had been invited and was allowed to bring his apprentice along, and it was the chance Gwen didn’t want to miss. She wanted a glimpse at Rion, a brief meeting of their eyes in the throne room to let him know. _You can be a good king, Rion, you really can. You saved me from your mother’s clutches, you have compassion in you. Be the better king._

It was, of course, an overweening ambition – to see the king and to tell him everything she wanted by a single look. What chance was there Rion would even pay attention to her expression among dozens of faces staring at him and following him with admiration in their eyes? But Gwen felt obliged to do it. _He saved me from Yrien. I must somehow… If Arthur rebels against the throne now… He will not rest until all the Gingawaines are put to sword. I must try to save Rion._

"I heard people at the market yesterday. They kept saying there is an army of the dead in the Labyrinth of Gedref. Wraiths massing for an assault, they said," Gwaine was lying on her bed, naked, with funny layers of suntan on his skin: while his face and neck and arms had gone a shade darker, his belly and legs remained pale.

Gwen was cleaning and mending the only dress of Lady Morgana she hadn’t sold to the gown shop. She was so happy she hadn’t parted with all of Morgana’s gifts, for otherwise she would have had nothing to wear to the coronation. _Now what was Gwaine saying? Ah, market rumours._

"People talk all sort of gibberish. They keep talking about dragon. They said there is a dragon in King’s Wood. Others say they saw a dragon flying south. To listen to them, why, there must be no less than a dozen dragons roaming the sky, and nobody dares attack Camelot for some reason," Gwen laughed, recalling all the silly talks that made her stay away from the market. _Arthur the Wraith. A wraith, my foot._

Beneath the rumours, however, lay the wicked truth: people were missing Uther. To her horror, that was what most of them repeated. Nobody denied that the kingdom had been under constant attacks from magic even in Uther’s days, but Uther the Great, as they stupidly called him, managed to cope with all the threats from whatever direction. He was the king to maintain a sense of stability about his reign even in the days of Purge and wars, they said.

"You don't think these talks about the army of the dead in Gedref… Can it be about Arthur?" Gwaine asked.

_I don’t want them to be about Arthur. I want him to be happy and alive, but somewhere else. Would that he could lead some peaceful life outside Camelot. Because if he means to retake his throne, he will spill so much blood that all his kindness can turn to evil._

"We can't know,” she said, trying to determine whether the change of colours on the dress’s sleeve was a stain or the game of light and shadow. “I asked Gaius yesterday, he says the rumours must be checked before..."

_Before you go to Gedref and we part. Because I can’t go to Arthur, I can’t. How will I look him in the eyes? After what I did to his father?_

"And who's going to check these rumours?" Gwaine sighed.

"Well, you said Merlin would come back and tell us if it's time to travel south. If he ever returns from this perilous destination of his…"

She hanged the dress on the rope and started thinking about flowers. _Would it be appropriate to bring flowers to the court?_

"Why are you so obsessed with it?" Gwaine’s voice was no longer a laze in the sun; there was something accusing about the question and Gwen had to turn around. _Goddess, he’s naked and hard._ She blushed.

"Obsessed?"  

"This coronation," Gwaine nodded, rising on his elbows.

"I'm not _obsessed_. I am invited. I must accompany Gaius."

"You can decline this invitation," Gwaine shrugged.   

"Why should I?"

"And why shouldn't you? What good is there to go and watch some crown of gold squeezed on a head of a pup who hasn't even grown a cock and..."

"Ruling is not about growing cocks. He may be kind and..."

"He tortured you!” Gwaine gave her an eyeroll that made her flush with anger for some reason. “You said it yourself!"

"He never tortured me! It was his mother!" Gwen forgot about flowers to match her dress instantly. Gwaine was making her angry.

"They are one family. He fooled you, you told me, Gwen."

_Is he worried over me? Or is he jealous?_

"He... he used me, that's true,” Gwen accepted it without the faintest reluctance. _We can make Arthur king. Gwen, you told me yourself that Arthur is a better person. What if we help Arthur gain the throne faster?_ “But then he saved me from Yrien and her Ratcatch, and now I am even allowed to work for Gaius again and..."

"Gwen, you sound ridiculous,” Gwaine fell on the bedsheets with his arms spread. “You've been telling me how these... nobles were ready to disregard the commoners left for the supposed Cenred invasion, how they didn't want to accept refugees because they feared for the richness of their breakfasts and food supplies, how they've been arrogant to your mistress... And now you're so eager to go and watch them cheer this Rion's silly name in some throne room."

"I'm not eager! Unlike you,” she said, pointing at his roused manhood. “I just want... This is like a tourney to me. Remember you went to watch a tourney? Just to have some fun? I want to watch a coronation. It would be good to take my mind off all these horrible events. I am still afraid to sleep, thinking Uther's ghost..."

"Goddess, Gwen, we have spent three nights without Uther’s ghost already. If this ghost wanted us dead, we would be in our graves. Come to me, sweetling, I can help you take your mind off..."

He spat on his hand and stroked his cock, making the red of its tip glisten. The sounds of his desire filled the room _. Goddess, he is so bloody handsome in the sunlight. But I will be late._

"Gwaine, I don't want to," she said shily.

"We haven’t made love for days!” he said, his eyes on fire with denied lust. “I have needs, sweetling! Maybe you don't want me at all? Might be I can't please you?"

"No. It has nothing to do with your pleasing. Gwaine, how can I think of making love in the wake of everything? Of Uther’s ghost? Of king’s death?"

"Are you sore at me?"

"Sore? Sore?!” suddenly, she wanted to throw a pillow at him or make him leave. “ Of course I'm sore! One second you say all these horrible things about me, about how I'm a hypocrite, and the next moment you invite me to jump in your bedsh..."

"I never called you a hypocrite," he showered her with smiles.  

"But that's what you meant!” Gwen ran her hand through her hair. “By pointing at how I dislike the court and yet want to see Rion's coronation."

"But don’t you really find it a bit contradictory?" Gwaine pointed, his eyebrows dancing in an arrogant manner.  

"RION IS NOT LIKE THE REST OF THE COURT!" she suddenly screamed.

Her outcry echoed off the walls a couple of times before the sunbathed room sank back into silence, but the peace was ruined. Now, there were no easy words to say.

"Wow, calm yourself, princess," Gwaine said in his manner to tone it all down to a joke.

"I told you not to call me that! Told you I..."

The door opened without knocking, and the figure stormed inside, not leaving a second for them to react. Lancelot looked like hell, his clothes miserably filthy, raising puffs of dust whenever he moved, his face – unwashed, and his hair – greasy. She hadn’t seen him since the night before King’s Tourney, and she didn’t expect to see him in the morning before Rion’s coronation. _Why is he always so ill-timed?_

"Lance! What are you doing here?!"

"Gwen!” Lancelot shut the door and rushed to hug her. His moves were so quick she didn’t have time to react, to escape his embrace, and not that she wanted to when she felt his hands thrown around her waist and his manly smell provoking her mouth to open.

Gwaine produced a loud cough, and Lancelot turned around, fearing some stranger. When his eyes met Gwaine’s, they slid down Gwaine’s body.

“Why is this bloke naked?"

"Who are you calling a bloke?" Gwaine replied robustly, rolling over the bedsheets to stand up.  

"Gwen?" Lancelot asked her, but he had learnt the answer already, for why else would his expression go so lifeless.

"Lance, it's... it's..."

"It's none of your business, she wants to say,” Gwaine said challengingly. “A lady can keep as many naked men in her house as she desires. If you envy it's not you in her bed, fella, have the dignity to accept it. Else fuck off and don't you call me a bloke."

Lancelot’s hands jerked, and his fingers turned into fists.

"Put your clothes on, Sir, and show me how you can answer to the shit pouring from your mouth, the shit you call words."

"Oh, with great pleasure..." Gwaine was putting on his breeches feverishly.  

"Lance, stop it!” Gwaine shrieked. “It's my house! Get out of...."

Before she could think of what she needed to say to make them both calm down, Gwaine jumped at Lancelot with a wild roar, and soon it was chaos, they were hitting each other with their fists, and grabbing each other and slamming each other against the walls of her house. Her walls were trembling, her pottery was broken to pieces, blood ran from Gwaine’s nose and Lancelot had blood on his lips.

"No! No, no, no, what are the two of you doing?!” she screamed, jumping out of their way. “STOP IT!"

Gwaine threw Lancelot out of her house through the door, nearly tearing the poor wooden creaking thing off the hinges. Before long, they were rolling on the ground in front of her house, drawing laughter from the neighbors and bypassers, who soon gathered in a small crowd that was cheering and laughing at them. Gwen thought she had never been shamed in such a way. _It’s unthinkable. They are fighting like tavern drunkards._

And when she thought nothing worse could ever happen, she saw guards running their way, and closed her eyes.

 


	64. Crown of Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Yrien's morning before her son's coronation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yrien POV

Madness had laid siege to the castle of Camelot and confusion was ruling it. Everybody seemed on his or her feet, trying to be of whatever use for Prince Rion's coronation. Men were unloading casks of wine from the Mercian trade wagons; sacks of flour were being moved to the castle to make sure the kitchens had everything necessary for the proper dinner. Countless hunting parties have been permitted to the King's Wood, and there was a promise of a generous prize for the one that would offer the most beautiful stag to King Rion. Serving boys and girls were washing and mending their masters' clothes, who wanted to be dressed in their best for the bitter-sweet occasion. The castle yard was a parade of whickering horses, members of the court giving commands, and guards cursing at everyone who'd come their way.

 _Good_ , Yrien thought, observing the scene from the balcony on the third storey. _I may be at war, but I don't want to look like a mouse that's going to dig into some hole and hide and wait until the danger is gone. Let them all see I am not afraid. Let them all see I am not afraid to stage a coronation. Let them all know I am as much a danger as Arthur. Besides, what sort of war is it? A slow one, at best._

She had received that wretched piece of paper the day before yesterday and reacted with a number of orders. Yesterday, a letter bearing Sir Leon's sigil had arrived: her newmade Councilor of War informed her that all the forces King Ryence had left nine days ago would be grouped up at the castle of Brechfa, while Lord Gloss of Chemary would add some two hundred more men and lead them to Portstown through Burnwood. According to Sir Leon, their hosts could reach the castle of Gedref in less than four days.

_Once the siege is laid, I will have to wait. Fat Sagramore was right. The siege of Gedref can last for years. Portstown can only be taken from the sea, and I have no fleet and do not intend to build one. We shall storm Portstown with the help of Gaheris army. However… not before I have Vyda's son and grandson as my honored guests will I permit her army to come from behind the White Mountains. Two thousand swords are a force big enough to tempt Vyda to try and conquer Camelot. Having her son and grandson as my honored guests will cool her temper. Good thing Sir Vidor is already here. Our champion of the king’s tourney and his whore are having a betrothal feast tomorrow. To think that they invited me… The snow would fall in summer before I went to such feasts._

Suddenly, her gaze came across an expensive wheelhouse standing in the corner of the yard. It had green curtains. _The color of Dindranes._

"Sir Logsheath," she asked the commander of her guards who was accompanying her like shadow these days. "Is it Lady Dindrane's cart that I spot there?"

"Precisely, your grace."

"Does it mean that she is returned to the castle and I have not been notified?"

"Must be so, your grace. Must be she slipped unnoticed in the fuss of the preparation for... for the... coronation, your grace."

Yrien wanted to clutch the old woman's throat and make her beg for mercy. _I told her son. I told him his mother had to return at once. Now here she is and they didn't even bother to notify me. I will have their heads!_

"Escort me to House Dindrane's chambers, Sir Logsheath," Yrien commanded.

"As your grace commands," the knight bowed down gallantly.

The walk through the corridors was slower this time, for many servants, all playing their part in the preparation for the ceremony, were rushing back and forth. Yrien hated the attitude the Dindranes had shown her so far. She still remembered the way Tawton's nostrils grew wide when he received the order to bring his mother back to the castle. _Is that a threat?!_ Yrien's mood was growing darker. _Does this Tawton think that he can question my authority because he reached the finals of the King's Tourney? I spit at him and at his tourneys. I have more swords. The Dindranes are nothing. An old family name, the descendants of the druid kings that have no lands, only feather mattresses and expensive sleeping furs. It was Ryence’s mistake – to let Anna deal with the druid rebellion._

The serving boy of house Dindrane ran upstairs the instant he spotted Queen Regent and her guard in the hall. He reappeared in a moment, mumbling something about Lady Dindrane expecting her grace in her bedchambers. _Expecting? Me? I should be expecting her!_

Anna Dindrane's apartments were large and no less lavish than the chambers destroyed in the Western Tower. She had a privy of her own and a dressing room whose size would suit a green girl rather than an old short woman with face composed of wrinkles and white hair Anna would try to hide from the sun beneath a number of shawls. Anna also had a balcony of white carved stone which looked off across the Southern Village.

Anna was on the balcony, resting her hands on the carved stone balustrade, peering over the edge. _Does she intend to step over the edge? That would be a relief for all of us, I am sure._

"Your grace," Anna said, turning to the queen and waving her serving boy off. _Even her hands are wrinkled_. "I was _horror struck_ when my son's horseman delivered the news about King Ryence. Let him find his path into the spirit world."

"Let him," Yrien agreed, stepping out on the balcony. Her single look at Sir Logsheath was enough to let the guard know his presence in the room was not required. "My lady, welcome home. The castle has been missing you."

"Mayhaps the castle, but not you. The sooner you rid the court of me, the happier you'll be."

Her openness produced the weirdest effect: Yrien smiled. _What is there about this woman? Maybe Ryence was not wrong to use her, after all. However, I'm still to find who used who._

"Ridding the court of you? My lady, I would have never..."

"Tawton told me everything. He described the nature of your visit. My child, how miserably dull you are if you really thought I was plotting something with the druid rebels. Nobody recognized me in their camp, and when I told them who I was, they believed me not."

"You have been missing for six days. You didn't even send a horseman back and..."

"Haven't it come across your oil-stuffed head that druids were not very fond of letting me send horsemen with messages for the crown?" Anna sniffed.

The idea to throw Anna off the balcony was seducing Yrien even stronger. _The world will not miss her._

"My lady, with all due respect for your... age, do not forget that I am Queen Regent of Camelot, and you must show me some respect," Yrien said, feeling foolish at once. _A queen who tells her people to treat her with respect has no respect at all._

"Forgive me, queen regent," Anna said with a toothless smile. "I didn't mean to offend you. Shall we go back into my room and discuss the matters of the realm?"

Yrien nodded and watched the old woman put a bottle of wine and a pair of silver cups on the table.

"I could ask for a taster, if you insist," Anna told her. "But I will be drinking from the same bottle."

Yrien considered the opportunity, but her determination to show no trace of cowardice prevailed.

"No need of taster if we drink from the same bottle," she said gently. "However, will my lady please change cups with me?"

Yrien suggested it when Anna was about to sip on the red juicy drink.

"Of course, your grace."

They were seated at the writing table with quills, inkpots and a bowl of peaches, plums and pears. Yrien held the silver cup in her hand and dared not drink, not before she saw Anna taste the wine, too.

"So? What is this druid fuss all about?"

"It is more than fuss, your grace. I shall deliver all the ill news first. To begin with, the river of Albus serves as a magic shield for the druids, whatever the reason. I can't imagine who could have enchanted the whole river, your grace, but it is enchanted."

"Enchanted?" Yrien repeated, remembering the terrifying screams in the Royal Tower the night Uther's ghost came to haunt them. _Ghosts and enchantments. Bewitched rivers. Rumours about dragons and silly talks about wraiths. I’ve had enough of this bloody mummer’s farce. Is this the castle of Camelot or the Isle of the Blessed?!_

"Yes. When armed people cross this river, their weapons are destroyed by some magic force and they are left empty-handed. The nature of this force is unknown to me, but it allows the druids to feel relatively safe across the river."

"How many are there?"

"Many enough. A few hundreds. Might be close to thousand, your grace, but counting was useless. They keep arriving. And not just some druids, your grace. They carry blades and other weapons."

"You've just told me..."

"No harm comes to _their_ blades. It must be the work of magic. Their magic, your grace."

"What do they demand?"

"Freedom. They want you to lift the ban on magic in the kingdom. Otherwise they will restore the ancient seat of druid kings in the land of Andor."

Yrien drained the whole cup to feel the sobering sourness on her tongue. _Hundreds. Close to a thousand. Arthur raising banners in the south, hiding behind the thick walls of the castle of Gedref. Druids hiding behind the magic of the river Albus. Vyda Gaheris, who, although having declared fealty to the crown of Camelot, can always side with Arthur and try and destroy Rion. Would it be wise if I abandoned Camelot and declared independency of Midlands and restored the Midlands seat in the castle of Brechfa? Would it be better for Camelot to go back to the era of Five separate Kingdoms?_

Yrien's guesswork told her it would be a folly. _Being the Queen of one land with four hostile neighbors would be more dangerous than ruling over one kingdom troubled by riots and rebellions._ _I shall deal with druids after I deal with Arthur. All in due time._

"If I refuse to lift the ban on magic, they will live in the land of Andor without ever attempting to threaten the crown?" Yrien asked the question without being too optimistic about the answer.

Anna poured some more wine and let the silver cup sway elegantly in her old wrinkled hand.

"The river Albus flows too close to the Mercian road. If the merchants felt the road unsafe, the trade would seize and the kingdom will record great losses. Lord Cynric won't be happy about it. Where is our new lord of Gedref, by the way? I was told he's not in the castle."

"He is not. He is in the castle of Chemary. I received a letter from him yesterday. He was on his way to inspect his newly bought castle when..."

"When he suddenly realized the castle had chosen a different lord," Anna finished with poorly masked happiness over Cynric's misfortunes. "How dreadful for our dear Royal Treasurer... Would that we could help him."

 _She knows. She knows about Arthur’s rebellion. But I will not talk to her about Arthur._ It was the trade with Mercia that occupied all her mind. _If the trade is stopped and Gedref remains under siege... Our tax reform will collapse._

"These... druids. Do they have a leader?"

"They do. Ruadan. A seasoned warrior who has outlived Uther's raids."

_That speaks much about him already. Uther spent many an effort to cleanse the earth off the druids, even their children._

"This Ruadan can't expect me to lift the ban on magic after all that happened to Camelot? The dragon attack cost this city hundreds of lives."

"Ruadan doesn't expect you to lift the ban overnight, your grace. He has a step by step plan. And he asked me to offer the first step to you."

"Which is?"

"A marriage between prince Rion, well, soon to be king Rion, and Lady Morgana of House Gorlois."

The silence was so thin Yrien could hear fractions of people's talking in the Southern Village. Anna's wrinkles didn't form up into a smile. _She is serious._

"Lady Morgana? What is this ploy?"

"Lady Morgana has sided with druids. I saw her," Anna nodded disapprovingly.

"But... how? She was kidnapped by the Dark Witch!"

"And the druids saved her. There is little friendship between the druids and the priestesses of the Isle of the Blessed, your grace. Morgana spoke to me. She said she regretted she hadn't killed Uther herself. Ask anybody at court, the fissure in their relationship was for us all to see, but Goddess, who could have known it was that cruel..."

_Morgana... Vivienne's daughter. The niece of one of those dragonlords slain at the Battle of Ashes. Should I be surprised she turned out to hate Uther?_

"Even if I were to consider this solution," Yrien balked at it. "I can't be marrying the king off to lady Morgana just to water their silly rebellion. Ruadan must have offered something in return."

"Five thousand swords," Anna said, emotionless.

"Five thousand?! That's impossible. Druids can't have such numbers. In no way... How many druids are there in Camelot?"

"It's hard to estimate, your grace. Some speak of fifteen thousand. But you should not forget the druids of Essetir and the druids of Catha. They are joining forces and gold. They are rebuilding the castle of Idirsholas."

The cold stone floor was slipping from beneath her feet. _Five thousand swords at Idirsholas_. _If they are gathered there, they will cut through the north like a knife through hot butter. There are no major holdfasts between Idirsholas and the castle of Camelot. Idirsholas has long been considered a ruin in a cursed wasteland. I will not have the strength to deal with them on my own._

"Will there be a response, your grace? Will I have a message to deliver?"

"I must talk this over with my council first," Yrien said, rising to her feet.

"Of course, your grace."

"I hope you don't miss prince Rion's coronation," Yrien said, considering it to be the highest invitation the old bat deserved.

The coronation time was nearing. Yrien hated herself for spending too much time in Anna Dindrane's company, for she could've used this time to prepare herself for the ceremony. _I am to become Queen Regent_ , _after all._

Under no circumstances would she ever tell Rion of the druid rebellion and its scales before the evenfall. _The lad's been far too nervous these days, and he is still to discover all the stress from ruling the kingdom. He doesn't look like himself ever since Ryence was... Small wonder. He can't feel safe. There was little attachment between Rion and Ryence, but Ryence was a great model to follow._

When Yrien was a little girl, her brother told her that one day she would put on a beautiful gown and ride to the castle of Camelot on a beautiful horse and marry King Uther and put on a crown of gold. If ever she had been silly to believe in such promises, she learnt to treat them cautiously when she learnt that Uther married Ygraine of Seaside Kingdom. Yet here she was, in the castle of Camelot, with her son, her only surviving son caught in the middle of warfare. _One wrong step and instead of wearing a crown of gold, I’d be wearing a crown of tears. No. They will never harm Rion. Arthur and these druids will go to hell. I will deal with them one by one._  

"Any troubles reported in the city?" she inquired as Sir Logsheath was accompanying her to her chambers.

"Nothing major, your grace. Some drunkard tried to steal a cask of wine and there happened an amusing love joust in the Lower Town," the guard snorted.

"A love joust? What? Somebody couldn't share some tavern wench?"

"Almost, your grace. A serving girl named Guinevere."

"What?!" Yrien put on a smile. _Her? Why would men be fighting over her?_ "The physician's apprentice?"

"Aye, your grace. We arrested all of them. Decided it was best to let them spend the night in the cells and to learn some notion of manners..."

"There is no need of that," Yrien said, previewing that Gaius would be at her door any moment, demanding that Gwen were released. "Let the wench go.”

_I can’t believe men would fight over the likes of her._

 


	65. Vidor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen and Gaius attend Sir Vidor and Lady Ewina betrothal feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen POV

Gwen had missed the coronation - she felt too ashamed to come. The farce Lancelot and Gwaine had caused in the street where she lived was one of the most humiliating things she had suffered - apart from surviving Yrien's hospitality in the dragon cells. _To think about it... Oh, Goddess. Gwaine, a half-naked man with his cock still hard in his breeches and Lancelot, a man that looked as filthy as a Mercian beggar, and they both rolling in the dirt while fighting because of me and screaming my name... How will I ever walk home again?_

The guards only arrested them because it was the day of prince Rion's coronation, and the security measures were tight in the Lower Town, but Gwen could not forgive Lance and Gwaine for ruining her morning and her day. _I was supposed to go see the coronation and they... they ruined it all. With this bloody farce. They ought to spend some days in these cells to cool their temper. Bloody fools!_

It was a relief to be let out of cells after a couple of hours, and Gwen knew she owed it to Gaius. She rushed to his chambers and hid in the room which used to once belong to Merlin. She didn't want to go home, she would not go home, for all the neighbors would be pointing fingers and laughing and joking about her lovers. _Lovers_.

It was kind of Gaius to invite her to the coronation anyway, but she had heard the guards and kitchen maids trade gossips about her, and she had no wish to stand there and be mocked and giggled at. She didn't go home that night, choosing to sleep in Merlin's room. Gaius was understanding enough and chose not to disturb her, for the old physician knew there were some personal matters at play.

_Personal matters? There were no personal matters. Lance was jealous to see me and Gwaine, I don't know what thoughts Lance had in his head, I swear, why would he think anything can happen between me and him after?... We, after… Lance made it clear, he made it perfectly clear when he abandoned me, when he left without even saying goodbye, stepping aside for Arthur as though I was a throne or a horse. I am now with Gwaine. I am. I am, I am, I am._

Yet come morning, and she woke up from the dream where _Lancelot_ was holding her in his arms, and she could tear the bedsheets just to relive that smell of his that shot up her nose when he grabbed her. She didn't even have to fantasize about him, his arms seemed all around her as she couldn't resist the call to touch herself. She imagined him tasting her with his mouth, and suddenly, all the tingling and fluttering sensation from rubbing herself burst into dripping wetness, and her legs were shaking, and there was lightness in her stomach and Lancelot's name on her lips. _Oh, what is wrong with me?_

She blushed and felt ashamed of her own thoughts, of the visions where Lancelot would be as eager to enjoy her as Gwaine had been yesterday.

***

Gwen was sure evenfall was hours away, and everybody knew that the betrothal feast of Sir Vidor and Lady Ewina Sagramore, daughter of the Royal Secretary, ought not commence before evenfall. However, all the silk, velvet and satin filling the corridor that led to the feast hall suggested the lords and ladies didn't care. After all, how many traditions had been broken as of late? The mourning of King Ryence which was supposed to last a week ended yesterday with prince Rion crowned King of Camelot and all her territories. _On the fourth day after Ryence's sudden death in the Royal Tower at the hands of a wraith who slaughtered four guards and killed the king, according to Queen Regent._

Indeed, the sun was still on the castle walls, and the aromas of bread and roasted meat were already filling the feast hall. Most guests were milling in front of the doors, in the warmth of the late afternoon, for they were to be invited into the hall one by one, with heralds shouting out their names.

She stood next to Gaius by the wall, watching beautiful gowns of ladies and their hair arranged so artfully and delicately for the special occasion.

"This is promising to be the feast that Rion's coronation should have been," Gwen told Gauis wistfully.

"It would be most inappropriate for his majesty to throw a feast on the fourth day after the king's death," Gaius said disapprovingly. "He was his uncle, after all."

"Why is it appropriate for Vidor and Ewina to have a feast then?"

"That's young love," Gaius smiled. "They had been planning a betrothal feast since before the King's Tourney. It was arranged long ago, and king Ryence's death ruined their schedule. However, since Queen Regent has shortened the mourning course for the late king to crown Rion earlier, they decided to use their chance. Unlike Rion, they are not related to the late king in any way. And since the mourning of King Ryence ended yesterday, it’s not against the tradition to have a betrothal feast for the couple."

"You think she will be happy about it? Queen Yrien?"

"Her majesty doesn't intend to visit this... event. It doesn’t require the presence of royalty by protocol. It's a simple betrothal feast, not a wedding.”

Yet the whole castle was vibrant with anticipation of an evening that would serve a splendor to remember. Sir Vidor was the grandson of Vyda Gaheris, the Lady of Daobeth, and it was thought that the groom's grandmother would not miss the chance to trumpet the power and wealth of Daobeth. _As if anybody doubts the power and wealth of the west._

Gaius was a free man of Camelot, and Gwen expected they would be the last of all people invited into the hall where some guests were already finding their sits on the benches. The hall was a blaze of light, with torches burning in all the sconce and merry shadows dancing on the walls, and whispers, laughter and jokes filling the air.

Gwen saw Rion walk the corridor, escorted by two guards. The king was wearing black-and-crimson breeches, striped, and a doublet with beautiful black sleeves and onyx studs. _Rion looks as regal as any king could dream. Goddess, how a crown can change the way a boy looks._

"Gwen, child, I hope that silly... event that took place yesterday doesn't bother you now?" Gaius wondered, afraid to rub salt into the wound.

"What silly event? The coronation of Rion?"

"Gwen!" Gaius chuckled. "We must be cautious!"

"Of course we must,” Gwen said innocently. “If you mean those... savages fighting over me, then... I think I have to see Lance."

"They won't keep him in cells for long. What he did was a minor thing. They were only arrested because Rion’s coronation took place yesterday, and security had to be tight.  You must speak to him as soon as you can. It may be that he had brought news."

Gwen knew what news Gaius longed to hear. _He wants to make sure Arthur is gathering forces somewhere. Do I want to hear it?_

Finally, they called Gaius's name and blew the trumpets.

Gwen and Gaius were seated a little too far to the king's right, beside the wizened Lady Dindrane and her granddaughter Ravenna, who was old enough to attend a betrothal feast. She had her soft dark hair tumbled over white shoulders and down her back, nearly reaching her waist.

Ewina of House Sagramore and Vidor of House Gaheris marched into the hall after their pages, who ran before them, scattering petals of summer flowers under their feet. The guests rose to greet the betrothed. They were the most beautiful couple Gwen had ever seen: a tourney champion in the doublet of dusky rose, beneath a cloak of black velvet blazoned with his family sigil - the fiery sword. Vidor did look handsome, even though he took much after Uther. Ewina, the dark-haired beauty, had chosen a dress of ivory silk with skirts decorated with floral patterns picked out in seed pearls. _She might have worn something more revealing. Well, Gaius is right. It's, after all, just a betrothal feast, not a damn bedding scene._

To open the feast, fire-masters were summoned, with special torches in their hands and oddly-smelling drinks they kept tasting between conjuring beasts of fire as though out of thin air. The flames took shapes of birds and flowers, and the girls screamed when a wolf's face illuminated the hall. Rion looked most pleased and so charming she wanted to blow him a kiss, but how could she, with the guards behind his back, Sir Melyn and Sir Gribs. Besides, he was the _king_ now, wearing not only the crown, but the armor of courtesies as well.

After the fire-masters' performance, Lord Sagramore approached his daughter, as the tradition bid, and kissed her on the cheek.

"I do so hope you find your new life happy and rewarding," Lord Sagramore said to Ewina before presenting Sir Vidor with the best wedding gift for a tourney champion - a sword, the finest blade from Gedref, as Royal Secretary assured.  

After that, the first meal of the evening was brought by servants, some mushroom soup served with hot freshly baked oatbread that smelled so tasty Gwen couldn’t resist.

Looking at this parade of splendor in the feasting hall, she also couldn't help but think about her own wedding _. Is there ever to be one? Will there ever come a day when I'll become somebody's wife? That was clearly impossible with Arthur. He was the prince. I am a blacksmith’s daughter. But Gwaine can ask me to marry him. And so can Lance. Damn it, why am I thinking about Lance? Still, Gwaine... He will never earn gold to stage such a beauty. Not in his ten lifetimes. And not that Vidor or Ewina earned their gold to pay for this exquisiteness. They were just born to a right family._

A juggler stepped forward after the first meal. He bowed down to the king, to the bride and the groom, to Lord Sagramore and started whirling two daggers in the air, then three, then four, then five... When the sixth dagger came into play, Gwen gasped in fear, thinking the whole whirlwind of blades would fall onto the juggler's head, but he managed to keep them all in the air to the wild applause from the guests of the feast.

After that, slivers of swan poached in a sauce of saffron and peaches were served, much to the guests’ admiration.

“How long until they say their vows?” Gwen asked Gaius.

“I suppose we’ll get to hear a singer first.”

Before the singer could appear, the hall welcomed one more guest: Queen Regent, after all, decided to grace the betrothal feast with her presence, wearing a pale blue gown; beneath the lady bodice, her breasts looked big and still shapely. Her hair, though, was the most shocking news of the evening: uncombed, they were falling on her shoulders and looked a little messy. _That’s unlike her._

“You said she wouldn’t come,” Gwen raised an eyebrow as she watched the singer pause and the pages desperately trying to find a seat for the queen.  

“So I thought… Everybody thought,” Gaius shrugged.

“Her majesty must have got bored,” Lady Dindrane giggled. “Why, I would’ve got bored as well. Sitting in the Royal Tower and drafting the tax decree… Although I do grant her wits, I really do.”

“Grandmother,” Ravenna pulled her grandma by the sleeve of her gown. “Do not embarrass us, you’re talking about the queen…”

“Am I? The kings have been dying so often lately I can’t keep all the names in my old head. You know, my late husband’s sister is the Lady of Denaria, and she wrote me a letter, saying the tax reform is much to the taste of all the lords and ladies. Why, who would mind paying less taxes? Now wait until they find out they’ll be receiving less donations from the crown as well… I wonder whose idea it was, Ryence’s or our dear Treasurer’s? Poor lord Cynric, how he must be regretting the investment he made into the castle of Gedref… It’s not the easiest castle to rule now, I fear,” she said, and Gwen saw Gaius’s face darken. “Now wait, we must suffer through this terrible ballad about a fisherman who fell in love with a mermaid. I think I’ve heard it at every bloody betrothal feast in the last forty years.”

Lady Dindrane swallowed half the cup of her wine – to help herself through the song, of course, and began to gnaw at her cheese-and-onion pie. Gwen couldn’t take her eyes off Lady Yrien.  

“She doesn’t look quite like herself,” she noticed to Gaius.

“Well, she is the mother of the king now, she’s got a lot more reasons to worry. Now hush, Gwen, we must listen to the song.”

_Songs about mermaids and fishermen, a tourney champion marrying a lucky bride. Why, it’s as if I were in a fairy-tale. A fairy-tale that’s about to go bad, though. How long before they all learn Arthur lived? How long before they all learn our summer will end with war? What will Gwaine do? Will Lance join Arthur or stay here with me? Will I stay at Camelot?_

“For our next performance,” a new voice made Gwen rise from the gloomy thoughts that didn’t agree with the merriment of the feast. _Vows are about to be made._ “For our next performance, I will require a brave knight! Do we have one in this hall?”

The guests, composed mostly of both, Camelot and Brechfa court, began to laugh and cheer the groom’s name. Vidor’s face reddened; he was already a bit too carelessly happy from all the wine, though he seemed more drunk on his bride’s beauty. _I wonder if they’ve fucked already. Would he do her the way Gwaine did me, or will he treat her tenderly because she is a noble?_

 _“VIDOR! VIDOR! VIDOR!”_ the guests were cheering.

“Indeed! Who better than Sir Vidor, the champion of Camelot?” a gleeman in colorful robes parried. “Come, Sir Vidor, we can’t do without your bravery!”

The crowd roared and tried to inspire Vidor with a thunder of applause. Even Yrien was clapping lazily.

Vidor stood up and pressed a kiss on his bride’s cheek and went down to the center of the hall as the servants were pulling a circular board that looked like a giant wheel. Young champion smiled at the crowd, reassuring.

“Come, Sir Vidor, there is no need to fear,” the gleeman encouraged Vidor to place himself against the board.

“I never fear!” Vidor shouted, raising his fist in the air to a round of another cheers and applause from the guests. Gwen glimpsed at Ravenna. She knew Ravenna and Ewina were friends, but for a moment it seemed to Gwen that Ravenna was jealous it wasn’t her who’d marry Vidor. _Nonsense. That’s just… a game of light._

 The gleeman and his assistants strapped Vidor’s ankles and wrists to the restraints on the board, and Gwen noticed Vidor’s bride shoot a slightly nervous glance at the entertainment crew.

“Don’t worry, my lady, we’ll give him back to you safe and secure, with all his parts where they should be!”

The hall laughed again. Rion was laughing so hard he was snorting wine from his nostrils.

The gleeman then placed an apple in Vidor's mouth and nodded to his servant to give the wheel a push. The wheel with Sir Vidor tied to it started spinning, and the laughter died at once.

_Goddess, that must feel dizzy. To look at it is nauseous…_

Vidor kept spinning on the board, and a dwarf ran to a gleeman, presenting him a case of three knives. The gleeman grabbed the first one and held the blade up for the guests of the feast to behold. Suddenly, without even stopping to take aim, he turned and threw the knife at the wheel: it thudded into the board, inches from Vidor’s face.

The gasp was huge, Gwen could hear some girls scream and she thought somebody might have fainted. Her own heart kept beating so hard the cup with wine was trembling in her hand. _Folly. Sheer folly._

Men seemed impressed and applauded gleeman’s aim, but Vidor was eying the knife in a manner that betrayed wariness that could be dulled neither by wine nor by the beauty of his bride.  

The gleeman bowed down to the crowd and took the second knife from the case and presented it to the guests again. Suddenly, Gwen felt tension build up among the guests; there were those who suggested one knife had been enough, who said that betrothal feast is not the evening where toying with fate and luck should happen. The second knife flew as suddenly as the first, a flash of steel in the air that thudded into the board between Vidor’s legs. Gwen let out a breath – her hands were too weak to clap.

Suddenly, Queen Yrien sprang to her feet and went to the center of the hall, shoving some guests aside. _Her hair is such a mess._

“Splendid!” the queen said, hugging the gleeman and kissing him on both cheeks. “Or, what an entertainment! You must be proud, men of such aiming skills are so hard to come by. Am I right?”

She giggled and looked at the crowd, who couldn’t understand what the queen was doing and why she’d plant kisses on some servant’s cheeks.

“Mother?” Rion asked curiously in the silence disturbed only by the sound of the wheel where Sir Vidor was spinning with an apple in his mouth.

“Don’t, don’t, your majesty,” she waved her son off. “My lord gleeman, will you permit me?”

Yrien grabbed the case with the last knife left in it. _Her hair is such a mess._

“Your grace?” the gleeman raised his eyebrows, nervous. “This is a complicated art… It requires years of practice…”

“Years? We don’t have years. I meant to test the bravery of brave sir Vidor _now_!” the queen raised the last dagger up for the guests to behold.  

“Your grace, I fear this trick can only be performed by a skilled…”  

“Behold!” Yrien shouted.

_Her hair is such a mess. She never leaves her room with her hair uncombed._

“This is not Yrien!” Gwen whispered to Gaius and sprang to her feet, throwing the bottle of wine from the table. “ _THIS IS NOT OUR QUEEN! SHUT THE DOORS! PROTECT SIR VIDOR!”_

Yrien’s eyes were suddenly full of malice, and her hand was quick as an arrow when she threw the blade. A flicker of steel, a motion too fast for an eye to grasp, yet they all heard that sound - the blade slicing into something other than wood, and the apple fell out of Vidor’s mouth, and the hilt of the knife was in his chest.

Gwen grabbed a glass goblet and threw it at Yrien, hitting her on the head. The queen stared back, with a look that promised another murder, but Rion’s guards were already upon her. She grabbed some chain on her neck and held some locket tightly and whispered something in the language nobody in the room could comprehend, and the next moment, the torches faded, and Yrien disappeared in the whirlwind of black dust before Sir Melyn and Sir Gribs could reach her.

As the light returned to the room, Gwen saw the wheel, where Vidor was spinning with a knife in his heart and blood pouring from his open mouth. Ewina’s eyes bulged white with terror, and Gwen heard the girl scream.


	66. A Helping Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yrien learns that Sir Vidor, grandson of Lady of Daobeth, was murdered at his betrothal feast.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yrien POV

_Lost_. Everything was lost and there could be no escape, no more than there could be a way for ashes and embers to turn back into fire. _We have brought it on ourselves._ Yrien hated Ryence for making up that awful rumour about the Labyrinth of Gedref. _The Labyrinth must have some force, I swear. We disturbed its peace and now I see my own house in a labyrinth, unable to find a way out. There is no way out._

It was Sir Logsheath who brought the word: the knight rushed into her room without knocking again, as she was writing a letter to Cynric demanding Royal Treasurer to come back to Camelot and help finalize the tax reform. Yrien didn’t understand a word from what her chief guard was saying about some wheels and apples and knives at the betrothal feast.

The screams were so loud that Yrien thought some bloody hell was raging in the hall as she approached the doors. Men were bellowing, voices were calling for guards, and Sagramore’s daughter shrieked when she saw her. She heard other girls wailing and saw people fight each other for a better view at one of the most horrible sights Yrien could recall in her life: a young man spinning on a wheel with a knife in his heart and blood all over his doublet of dusky rose, and on the board of the wheel, and on the floor, and… When the guests saw Yrien, they rushed for the doors as though her presence somehow threatened to leave more murdered people on the wheels. They were fleeing the hall in a haste Yrien expected to see at the sack of a town rather than at a betrothal feast. She made sure Rion was safe and escorted to the Royal Tower; the physician was saying something about a witch, about magic, but she didn’t care. _Rion must be brought to safety._

Yrien ran back to her room where she locked herself. She had seen people in the corridor, weeping and retching, some pale and horror-struck, others helpless. Yrien herself was ready to cry and rip her hair out. _Ryence, I failed you. I failed, you were right, I am unfit to rule, look at what is happening. Forgive me, Ryence._ But in her head, Ryence judged her, laughed at her, and Yrien threw a candle at the window. The curtains caught fire, but she didn't care. _Let them catch fire! Let it burn! Let it all burn! Let the whole damn castle die in flames!_ _Vyda will learn of this anyway… She will learn that her grandson was murdered at the betrothal feast in the castle of Camelot, they will tell her it was me who killed Vidor… She has two thousand swords and she knows how to use them. I will have to call banners in Midlands, and there will be a war. A full scale war. In the harvest season. The fields will burn like these curtains. Thousands of people will die. My son... Rion..._

The door swung open, and Yrien saw a child break into her room. She shook her head to realize it was no child: the short Lady Dindrane just looked like one, in her tastelessly motley gown.

"Your queen's room is on fire, do something about it, idiots!" she commanded as though it was _her_ who was the queen. Yrien tried to wipe her tears, but Anna grabbed her by the arms and pulled her out of the room where smoke was making people choke and their eyes water.

"Let go of me," Yrien hissed fiercely. "How did you make it past the guards? Who let you in? Who let her in?!"

Yrien felt stung by a sudden slap from Anna. Under ordinary circumstances, it would have cost Anna her hand or even her arm, but Yrien was too shocked to react.

"Listen to me, silly girl," Anna pulled her by the hair to make their heads be on the same level. "You know what happened, you know what it means. Horsemen have been sent already, I am sure. It's only a matter of time before Vyda Gaheris learns that her grandson has been murdered in Camelot. They will say it was you who murdered him, and no matter how many explanations you'd be willing to offer, she's unlikely to forgive you. There will be war."

"Why do you care?!" Yrien sobbed.

"Because if Vyda brings all the power of the West against us, I am no less dead than you. You have a son whose life is more important to you than your own, and I have two granddaughters. Camelot has been the seat of my ancestors and I am _not_ fleeing."

"What do you want from me?"

"Send envoys to the druids. Agree to the pact Ruadan offered to you, the pact I told you about yesterday. Let King Rion marry Lady Morgana. This marriage would be valued high in the eyes of the court. Morgana was the king’s ward, the heir of Asgorath, the richest territory of the West, don't forget it. Morgana and her druids will give you five thousand swords..."

"Only if I lift the ban on magic!" Yrien screamed.

"You can do it _after_ you deal with Gaheris. You may as well try and talk peace with her. But it's better to talk about peace with an army outnumbering your foes two to one, won't your grace agree? Or does your grace have problems with figures?"

_She has the courage to mock me when I am weak. I will see you die, old woman, I promise you. You will not outlive Vyda Gaheris for long._

"Mother?" Rion appeared, drawn by her screams. He was surrounded by guards. “Mother, what is happening?!”

"I need you seal, Rion," she replied, trying to regain her character.

"My seal?! Why?! For war?!"

"No. For love."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that is it for Volume IV "Kingdoms and courts" ! 
> 
> We have one last volume left in the fic, Volume V "The Last Dragonlord" with chapters: 
> 
> "Lessons in Magic", "Until Her Last Breath" and "Freedom" for Morgana POV;  
> "Druid Envoys" for Gwen POV;  
> "The Last Dragonlord" for Merlin POV  
> and "The Castle of Gedref", "Seaside Kingdom", "The Siege", "The Westerners", "The Battle of Merchant's Bay", "King and His Warlock", "Two Sides of the Same Coin" and "Labyrinth of Gedref" for Arthur POV 
> 
> There will be a tiny Appendix published later today ;)  
> Thank you for following <3


	67. Appendix: Brief History of the West

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As has been revealed from various sources, Camelot had not always been a single kingdom. Before Uther's conquest, the territory of Camelot encompassed five different states, and the land was commonly called "The Five Kingdoms". This appendix is devoted to the brief history of Mountain Kingdom.

Once upon a time, to the west of White Mountains lay Mounain Kingdom (dark-pink on map 1 below), a land which could trace its origins to the ancient kingdom of Daobeth. Kingdom of Daobeth used to be a mighty country that occupied vast territory in the west of Albion.

_map 1 Ancient Kingdom of Daobeth_

_original graphics by[versaphile ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037453/chapters/2069264)_

 

After establishing succession rules, Kingdom of Daobeth was developing as fast as any other kingdom. The most special feature about this land was the Isle of The Blessed - a territory where a lot of people took shelter after they were exiled from the Lake of Avalon by dragonlords. Isle of the Blessed had never been a problem for the development of Daobeth, and much less a threat for its throne. People from the Isle would usually earn their bread by helping commoners recover from sicknesses quicker or by selling them elixirs that could make people fall in love, etc. Kingdom of Daobeth soon developed enough power to invade its eastern neighbors, who had fertile lands producing a lot of harvest. However, an obstacle was on the way: dragonlords and their great dragons.

At the days of Daobeth Kingdom, peace between various kingdoms in Albion was maintained by dragonlords - druids who had the power to command dragons. There had been great dragons, six of them, the most intelligent creatures with deep knowledge of magic and the ability to talk and communicate with their dragonlords, loyal to their masters whom they called soul-brothers. There were also wild dragons, weaker and smaller creatures who were just beasts, although dangerous ones, and who lived very little if caged and had no more ability to talk than other animals, and were as intelligent as any other non-magic animals. Wild dragons were roaming the sky and although they were abiding by dragonlord's will, they couldn't be commanded unless they _saw_ and  _met_ a dragonlord, while great dragons could hear their master's call from thousands of leagues. These great dragons were the only reason which kept Daobeth from expanding eastwards. Many years ago, they had tried to do it and learnt the power of great dragons to their sorrow.

King Virico was the first king of Daobeth who expressed a lot of interest in the magic craft. He even went to visit the Isle of the Blessed several times, and invited a high priestess Boodikha to reside at his court. Boodikha and King Virico developed close relationship, for both of them shared hatred for great dragons and dragonlords. While for King Virico dragons meant unability to broaden Kingdom of Daobeth, Priestess Boodikha belonged with the tribe of Meredoc - people who had been long ago exiled from the Lake of Avalon by dragonlords. There were also rumours about Priestess Boodikha having some personal motive for avenging dragonlords; however, this motive remained undiscovered by King Virico.

After many a year at court, Priestess Boodikha assured King Virico that she finally created a weapon that could kill great dragons and their dragonlords. To make this weapon, she needed a meeting with Branwen, King of Elmet, a land ruled by dragonlords to the north of the Andor Mountains. King Virico invited King Branwen to visit the castle of Daobeth.

Soon after Priestess Boodikha met King Branwen (nicknamed The Fisher King) at the court of King Virico, she received a special gift from King Branwen - a Bird of Phoenix. The heart of this bird was the much-needed ingredient for the weapon the priestess was planning to use against the great dragons, the dragonbane. To kill them all, Priestess Boodikha needed to create a threat that would be terrible enough for all the great dragons to be used in response.

And thus Boodikha seduced seven knights from Medihr – a town in Midlands. One by one they succumbed to her power, becoming a terrifying and brutal force that rode through Midlands and Druid Lands, leaving death and destruction in their wake. Boodikha created seven knights to match the original number of great dragons, confident that all the dragonlords would fly to deal with the knights of Medihr. However, only two dragonlords appeared. Priestess Boodikha killed them, but after that, gone was the power of Dragonbane summoned from the heart of Bird of Phoenix.

The four remaining dragonlords soon learned of their fellow dragonlords' deaths and discovered the origins of this ploy, and brought their wrath not only upon Priestess Boodikha, but also upon the castle of Daobeth, burning it and turning it to ruins.

After the revenge of the four great dragons which resulted not only in the death of King Virico, but in the destruction of most of the noble houses of the land, the mighty Kingdom of Daobeth fell apart into four large bits: Gawant, Dyfed, Mountain Kingdom and Gwynedd (see map 2 below): 

_map 2 Daobeth Kingdom after collapse due to dragon's attack_

_original graphics by[versaphile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037453/chapters/2069264)_

Many a generation of soldiers from Mountain Kingdom spent their lives in wars trying to win a sea shore for their land. However, the kingdoms of Gwynedd, Dyfed and Gawant united in their ambition to keep Mountain Kingdom landlocked. After series of exhausting wars, rulers of Mountain Kingdom submitted to fate and abandoned their pursuits to gain ports.

Instead, commoners of Mountain Kingdom became involved in mining, and soon there was a lot of iron and steel, but scarce the grain needed to feed people, for the lands of Mountain Land were said to be made of stone. Trade with the Kingdom of Gawant and with Midlands helped Mountain kings and queens feed their folk. However, the very same trade soon became a cause for crown being overrun with huge debt, for iron and steel were of no great demand in the realm where the notorious dragonlords were trying to keep peace at all costs. By **_328 AR*_** (*After Romans) collapse of Mountain Kingdom economy ensued.

It was not a collapse that happened all of a sudden, though, and many events contributed to the economic downfall of the land. Mountain Kingdom got buried by the avalanche of many problems that had been building throughout centuries. Their mines had been nearing exhaustion for some time and it had been known, yet greedy kings and queens didn't like to invest money in building new mines, preferring to milk the working ones for as long as possible. Their neighbors, the Kingdoms of Gawant and the Kingdom of Dyfed, signed a peace treaty after a long truce they had managed to sustain. There happened a couple of floods and, consequently, years of poor harvest in Midlands which provoked hunger throughout Mountain Kingdom and migration from Mountain Kingdom to Gawant.

 

Roman Conquest 

 

Roman general Ostorius spent first seven years after the invasion building a fleet on the Western shore of Cornwall. In 7 AR Roman invasions reached the West when General Ostorius sailed from Cornwall to Kingdom of Gawant, bringing thousands of Roman swords. Gawant fell soon enough, and the resistance of Kingdom of Dyfed bore no fruit either. It was up to Mountain Kingdom and her king Caracatus to defend the West from the Romans.

In 8 AR, King Caracatus led the army of Mountain Kingdom against Roman troops; the two forces met in the Battle of Caer Caradoc, where King Caracatus suffered defeat. Fearing for his life and the life of his family, King Caracatus asked two dragonlord families of Druid Lands for a refuge, but they refused him, and so King Caracatus fled to Kingdom of Mercia, which was ruled by another one of four remaining dragonlord families. There, King Caracatus asked shelter from Dragon King Venutius of Mercia. King Caracatus told King Venutius that it was dragonlord's solemn duty to be a guarantee for peace, and accused him of not doing enough to oppose Roman invasion.

However, at the time when King Caracatus sought shelter in Mercia, this kingdom was divided by war herself: soon after the invasion of Romans, a group of lesser lords and ladies of Mercia decided to join the Roman side and tried to gain independence from Mercian crown and establish their own Kingdom of Essetir, which they wanted to become a client of the Roman Empire.

Under pressure from his wife Queen Cartimandua, Dragon King Venutius of Mercia decided to hand Mountain King Caracatus over to the Romans, fueling West's hatred for dragonlords once again. In the meantime, Roman general Ostorius established control over borders between Gawant and Mountain Kingdom, but he decided not to move further north or west, because he was keen to avoid what he considered a difficult and drawn-out war for little material gain in the mountainous terrain of upland Mountain Kingdom. Thus, Kingdom of Gawant became a stronghold for Roman troops and the romanization of Gawant began.

 

In **_333 AR_** Mountain Kingdom fell victim to yet another dreadful event which librarians would call "Dragon Wrath", or the Third Dragon War (  ** _333 AR – 340 AR_** ) - a conflict between two families of dragonlords. When the conflict took place, the news that reached Mountain Kingdom seemed unimportant. It was said that King Gratias of Indigo Flames imprisoned Prince Magnus of Violet Flames in the castle of Camelot, together with his great dragon Dulas. However, prince Magnus somehow managed to escape and fled to Gwynedd.

In Gwynedd, Prince Magnus spent years in hiding, and it is said that he betrayed his dragonlord nature and worked with the Isle of the Blessed to create the cruelest of all weapons known to people. Using the blood of dragonlord for the first time ever, a high priestess created a magic horn that would make wild dragons hear the call of the dragonlord from Prince Magnus even from thousands of leagues and abide by his will. Having all the dragons (except for four remaining great ones), under his control thanks to the power of this magic horn, prince Magnus invaded Mountain Kingdom, Dyfed and Gawant in **_337 AR_**. He put many people in chains and made them build a great fleet, and after the fleet was ready, in **_340 AR_** Prince Magnus sailed away with his army of slave soldiers and wild dragons – he wished to conquer the Earth.

Prince Magnus's invasion in Mountain Kingdom, Dyfed and Gawant was a terrible blow to the development of the West. The Third Dragon War ruined the prestige of dragonlords and destroyed whatever little trust Mountain Kingdom had in the dragonlords. The next quarter of a century passed and tensions were rising over kingdoms’ borders, and conflicts between kings and queens, warlords and traders were welling up as well. When King Gratias died in **_367 AR_** and King Andor of Green Flames became the new dragon king of the Druid Lands, the whole Albion plunged in turmoil. Romans soon left, and the warlords’ unrest began, and before long, Mountain Kingdom waged war on Gawant ("The Delayed War" of **_369 AR - 371 AR_** ), which resulted in Mountain Kingdom capturing a mighty castle Wheelskirt and adding it to their territory.

When Uther Pendragon was born ( ** _378 AR_** ), Mountain Kingdom was still recovering from the wounds of "Delayed War" and prince Magnus’s invasion. While commoners were suffering from hunger, sicknesses and poverty, lords and ladies dwelled in the castles, trying their best to preserve the last artifacts of Ancient Kingdom of Daobeth. Daobeth Legacy seemed everything that was left to Mountain Kingdom. The admiration of their land now seemed to be rooted only into the past, into the days long gone, for there seemed to be nothing inspiring about Mountain Kingdom in the present moment. Against the background of small folk's poverty and misery, legends of brave Daobethian knights defying dragonlords seemed romantic for the rulers and helped them justify their disregard of the commoners' problems. By the end of the reign of King Edren of House Gaheris in late **_390's AR_** , it would appear that lords and ladies paid no attention to the life of their subjects at all (see map 3)"

_map 3 Five Kingdoms Before Uther's Conquest_

_Dark-Pink - Mountain Kingdom_

_Blue - Seaside Kingdom_

_Yellow - Midlands_

_Green - Druid Lands_

_Orange - Northern Lands_

_original graphisc by[versaphile](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037453/chapters/2069264)_

 

It all changed when young Uther Pendragon sided with other heirs and knights of his kingdom and started his campaign ( ** _397 AR_** ) of uniting the Five Kingdoms and killing four remaining great dragons and their dragonlords.

However, even when Uther became King of Five Kingdoms ( ** _401 AR_** ), he didn't forget the arrogance of all the lords and ladies from Mountain Kingdom, who had tried to stop his campaign at early stages and had urged King Edren to behead Uther and to accuse him of treason. Uther's uncle, Prince Ulwich of House Gaheris, heir to the throne of Mountain Kingdom, died mysteriously by the end of Uther's conquest (there are those who believe it was high priestess Nimueh who poisoned Ulwich). Uther named Ulwich's wife Vyda the Lady of Daobeth, and Vyda's nephew, Deos Sagramore, became the only relative Uther had allowed to his Council, giving him the tedious position of Councilor of Camelot. Uther didn't put a single westerner at the position of Secretary, Treasurer, Councilor of War, Commander of the Knights or Councilor of Trade. Besides, Vyda never visited the castle of Camelot until Uther's union with Nimueh broke apart. When Vyda Gaheris arrived at the castle of Camelot for the first time ( ** _411 AR_** ) to offer her condolences after Queen Ygraine's death, she told Uther: "You must be happy you've only lost your lady wife. When the King of Daobeth was betrayed by a priestess, Daobeth lost a whole castle to the dragonflames!" 

_map 4 Camelot after Uther's conquest_

_No. 6 - The Castle of Daobeth, nicknamed "The Broken Tooth"_

_original graphics by[versaphile ](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1037453/chapters/2069264)_

 

In the timeline of this fic ( ** _432 AR_** ), Vyda Gaheris is the Lady of Daobeth (Number 6 on the map, colored dark-pink). She was one of the four key ladies and lords that were missing at the election of new king of Camelot after Uther's death (together with Lord Catigern of Asgorath, Lady Galla Dindrane of Denaria, Lord Lucan of Landshire). These territories are commonly referred to as "the West" in Camelot, for they are located to the west of White Mountains. Not long before his death, however, Uther commanded an army of 2,000 soldiers to be raised in the west, for he was fearing Cenred could lay siege to the castle of Camelot, and hoped that western army would easily lift the siege if it happened.

After Ryence of House Gingawaine was elected new King of Camelot, Vyda Gaheris, together with other lords and ladies of the western territories, refused to send her seal and swear fealty to the crown since the election of new king was held without her casting vote. With two thousands swords raised in the west, her soft defiance troubled King Ryence, who sent his Councilor of War - Lord Accolon on a crown mission to Asgorath, to hold talks with western lords and ladies and to make them bend the knee and recognize Ryence as their new king and prince Rion as his rightful heir. Lord Accolon didn't succeed and his whereabouts remain unknow.

King Ryence himself believed the reason of Western Defiance was hidden in the schemes of his Royal Treasurer Lord Cynric, who had helped him murder Uther. At Uther's council, Lord Cynric served as Councilor of Trade and enjoyed high profits from controlling the smugglers' business. Due to Portstown in Gedref having higher import duties than other ports in Merchant's Bay, it was cheaper for smugglers to unload goods in Deorham ports and smuggle them through the border with Camelot. Cynric was helping them establish routes and earned his profit from it. Uther's "Treaty of Five Kings" threatened to make import duties in Gedref and Portstown equal with duties in all the other ports of Merchant's Bay, thus making smuggling schemes useless and reducing Lord Cynric's wealth.

Lord Cynric helped Ryence get to power by using smugglers' routes to stage a fake invasion in southern Brechfa, where he used Deorham mercenaries to make Uther believe the invasion was by King Cenred of Essetir. After that, Uther sent his son Prince Arthur to join one of the patrol mission while Uther himself kept gathering two armies: one near Camelot in the town of Howden, and another - in the west, behind the White Mountains. When Uther's heart, weakened by poison which Lord Cynric kindly provided through Rion and Gwen, collapsed upon hearing the news of his son's death in the patrol mission, Ryence of House Gingawaine was elected new king and fulfilled what he had promised to Lord Cynric: renounced Uther's "Treaty of Five Kings". However, Ryence soon learnt that renouncing the treaty of late Uther was not all that Lord Cynric desired. Lord Cynric also demanded that the castle of Gedref was sold to him and hinted that the Western lords and ladies would not recognize Ryence as their new king unless the castle of Gedref passed to him.

Soon after the castle of Gedref had been sold to Lord Cynric, Vyda Gaheris sent a letter to King Ryence, where she assured him that she would recognize him as king quicker if he named her younger son Nentres the heir to the territory of Asgorath, presently ruled by a feeble old lord Catigern fond of hunting. King's sister Yrien protested, saying that it was too much and that Vyda had forgotten herself and was acting too greedy, but Ryence said that Asgorath was not too big a price to pay for the loyalty of the armed West. Soon after King Ryence issued a Royal Decree where he named Nentres Gaheris the heir of Asgorath, the royal Secretary Lord Sagramore announced that seals of fealty had arrived from the West and that all the western territories recognized Ryence as their king.

In addition, Vyda Gaheris's grandson Vidor (son of Safir Gaheris) arrived at Camelot to take part in the king's tounrney as a gesture of peace. Sir Vidor, 21 years old, won the jousting, unhorsing Sir Tawton Dindrane in the final ride. After king's tourney, it was announced that Sir Vidor would marry Ewina Sagramore, daughter of royal Secretary. However, Sir Vidor was murdered at his betrothal feast while in Camelot, and the reaction of his grandmother and all the Daobeth is still to follow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapters from Volume V "The Last Dragonlord" out tomorrow <3


	68. The Castle of Gedref

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur and Mithian arrive at the Castle of Gedref.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

#  VOLUME V

# THE LAST DRAGONLORD 

 

It is not from the benevolence of the butcher, the brewer, or the baker

that we expect our dinner, but from their regard to their own interest. 

Adam Smith

 

The evening Mithian noticed the light of moonstone fade, Arthur nearly went over the side, as though the ship was attacked by beastly storm. The blackness in the gem which had been so blue before could not have more than two explanations. Either Merlin somehow found a way to solve this magic riddle and they both lived, or Arthur lived at the price of Merlin's life.

Arthur kept muttering to himself that it wasn't possible. _He wouldn't do that, he would absolutely NOT do it. He wouldn't do it so mercilessly. Without seeing me one last time. But he wouldn't see me one last time, for he'd know I'd tear the bloody sunstone off his chest and would never let him die for me. I never let him get hurt for me. I drank the poison in the Labyrinth of Gedref. I thought I did. Merlin, you are a complete idiot._

The winds turned rough at first night, and Arthur heard rowers get to work after a lazy evening. He knew he wouldn't be able to sleep a single hour without knowing Merlin was fine, but how could he know? _Sleep. Sleep. I must sleep. If I see him in a dream again, I'd be able to talk to him, just like in that garden, I know, I know. Oh, Goddess, if I had magic, I would learn a spell that would let me talk to him whenever I want._

Arthur laughed hysterically. _See where he got me to. We haven't been together for more than a month? Is it? A month, and I already wish I had magic. Father would be so happy. May I present to the court, my new magic lover. Behold, father!_ He opened his eyes because someone was pushing him on the shoulder. She was tall and had her hair rustled by the night wind.

"Arthur," Mithian said softly. "You will freeze yourself if you stay on the decks all night. A kingdom needs a healthy king."

_And I need a healthy Merlin. Here. NOW._

"I can't stay below the decks. I can't sleep."

"You were sleeping just fine when I found you here," she smiled. "Come, Arthur, every child knows these tales about mermaids stealing men and marrying them at the bottoms of the sea. You must sleep."

_BLOODY HOW?!_

"Mithian, you are very kind, but..."

"Arthur, I am sure, whatever you fear will not come to pass."

_How do I know, how do I bloody know? Everything about our plan has been foolish from the very start. I should have never let him go, never, never. How could I send him to Camelot with Gwaine?... Alright, I saw him slay some riders with magic when he was rescuing me and bringing me to Ealdor, alright, I knew he could be powerful, but that doesn't make him less Merlin, that doesn't make him less... vulnerable, I HAD TO BLOODY PROTECT HIM AND NOT THE OTHER WAY AROUND. What was I thinking?_

The night was all around his throat, it seemed the darkness was suffocating, and Arthur's glance shot skyward, where the starlight seemed pretty and unbothered. _Will he remember? About the guiding star? For me, please. Find a way. I love you and I never told you._

"I will come below the decks soon," Arthur promised and let the wind wipe out his tears.

***

Arthur was the first man at the decks in the morning. To the right board, soft sand beaches were going higher and turning into stiffened brown shores covered with grass, and before long, small rocks were rising from the sea by the eastern coastline, like horns on a spine of some giant sea dragon. The sea had gone a shade deeper into the blue, winds were playing with sails and the eastern sky was uneasy with clouds. _If I had magic, I would use it to make the winds carry us to Portstown in a blink of an eye. Alright, I already found two reasons to have magic. Goddess, Merlin must know a lot more reasons._

"How long before Gedref?" Arthur asked of captain as soon as he appeared, yawning and shouting out commands with his hoarse voice trained in seasons of voyages.

"Gedref? The last time you lovebirds paid me, I promised Portstown."

 _We are not lovebirds_ , Arthur fumed. _My lovebird might have lost its wings._

"What difference does it make? Why can't you let us leave at Dragon's Jaws?"

"Because galleys can't bloody just enter Dragon's Jaws without permission from Lord of Lady of Gedref, and the last time I heard, there was neither a lord nor a lady in the castle of Gedref," the captain said.

Logn ago, the Castle of Gedref had been carved out of a colossal rock in the Merchant's Bay by Dragonlord Ashkanar. The base of the main rock contained enormous sea-carved cavern reaching one hundred feet high and two hundred feet wide. In this cavern which Ashkanar had called "Dragon's Jaws", he had created a castle port with docks, wharves, and shipyards, all accessible for galleys who had permission from the castellan or the lord or lady of Gedref. Steps connected the cavern with the castle, although the ascent was said to be tiresome.

"And when was the last time you heard?" Arthur asked thoughtfully.

"Heard what?"

"When was the last time you've been to Portstown or Gedref?"

The captain scratched his head.

“Must be twelve days ago or so. The whole bloody town was mourning the death of Lord Owaine, I tell you. They loved him like a fool child loves a kitten. You know how they say in Portstown? Gedref must be ruled by Gedref. When Owaine's father was butchered in Camelot..."

"He wasn't butchered," Arthur hissed. "He served Camelot fiercely and loyally until his last breath, protecting this castle from the creatures of Cornelius Sigan."

"Well, that's what they want you to believe in Camelot, don't they? I pissed my breeches from laughter. Aye, Cornelius Sigan. And I am Ashkanar the Conqueror, ha!" captain was laughing sincerely. "Oh, lad, I tell ya: whenever somebody dies in the castle of Camelot, they say it was some Cornelius Sigan or some boar with enchanted cock. People in Portstown were saying other things."

"What things?" Arthur wondered casually.

"Why, many in Portstown remember the days of Seaside Kingdom. They remember how Du Bois brothers shot King Reginald Gedref with crossbows and threw his body into the sea, how they imprisoned Reginald's son Ollwen, and how the eldest Du Bois sold his whore sister to Uther and how Seaside Kingdom was reduced to a territory of Camelot."

When Arthur heard the captain call his mother "a whore sister", Arthur thought of throwing the bearded man into the water or cutting him to pieces. Arthur turned away, trying to save his breath.

"Until Uther's ... ehm... _divorce_ , Gedref had been ruled by the younger Du Bois, Tristan. When Ygraine was murdered, Tristan raced to avenge his whore sister, and guess what they told him? Of course they told Tristan his whore sister was murdered by a high priestess! Good thing Tristan had enough wits to challenge Uther nonetheless and bad thing he swallowed some blades... And Uther had to send Ollwen back to Gedref, to be the lord of the territory. They say Uther learnt his mistake too late. Ollwen was not just some lord. He was the son of the last Seaside King Reginald, he had royal blood, he was _born_ to rule Gedref. They say that when Uther began to suspect Ollwen of planning to restore the throne of Seaside Kingdom, he killed him and blamed it on Cornelius Sigan."

 _That’s a lie._ Arthur saw them scream, he had ordered them to retreat when they realized their foe was conjured out of stones and thus immune to blades. There were those who realized it too late. _I myself would have been dead had... Oh, bloody hell, it was Merlin again. I am sure it was him. How else could he know all those things about Cedric? He was jealous back then_ , Arthur thought with a proud smile.

"… and not a year passed since Ollwen's death and they bring the news that Owaine was shot dead in the forest of Brechfa. And then they bring the news that Ursula, Ollwen's wife and Owaine's mother, was stripped of her lordship rights over the castle. A blind man can see that they just wanted to kill all the Gedrefs. The small folk didn't digest it easily. Not sure they will. We'll be at Portstown on the morrow, lad. You better tell your lady wife."

***

The sunshine was white, so white Arthur thought of taking his tunic off. But he had his purse hidden beneath the tunic, and Mithian had warned him to keep his purse hidden.

"They will understand once they see," she had told him below the decks, in the morning, in a small room where a single bed could hardly fit. Mithian had slept on the bedsheets, while Arthur was dreaming on the floor, trying to savor the tricky and tickling sensation from the ship swaying on the waves in a dull harmony.

Had there ever been a day to last so long? A day when white sunshine and blue shimmering sea seemed immovable, as though frozen by some wicked magic. Arthur feared this had all been an illusion, he feared the ship was caught in the rigid force of the waves that wouldn't let them move north no matter how hard the rowers would work. It was only the coast line to the east that served as a shield against such superstitions. The rocky shore was climbing, so much the eye could tell. By midday it was fifty feet higher than the sea level.

"You can stay sleepless as long as you like," Mithian said from behind his back. "But you have to eat. The kingdom needs a strong king."

_What good is strength if I can't protect the ones I love. If I lost mother. And father. And maybe... NO._

"I'd rather drink something," Arthur shrugged.

"Here," she handed him a waterskin. "That's mine. Captain offered his, but I say it's safer to use our waterskins for now. You know he thought we were a wife and a husband?"

Arthur chocked on his water and spilled half the waterskin on his tunic. _Good. The heat's terrible._

"I... I didn't think it was worth trying to convince him otherwise," Arthur said, gathering some breath. "You know. That's out of... suspicion."

"Oh, of course it's out of suspicion. A wife and a husband traveling on a trading galley rather than on a passenger boat. Whispering and trading secrets. Arthur, we should have told him we were a couple on the run. Like, you've asked for my hand, but my cruel father hasn't agreed and now we're running to Portstown to marry. That would have been out of suspicion."

"Where did you learn to lie so...?"

"So often?" Mithian tasted some water and shielded her eyes from the sun with her slender pale arm. "Well, I guess I learned it once I realized all my maidservants were spying on me. Once I learned my father's palace was a snake's pit with everybody trying to downplay my claim and, you know. I had to learn to lie to... To stay in the game. You ever had servants spying on you?"

"All the time. Father sent them to sleep in special chambers next to mine, so that we shared a door. He thought I wouldn't notice. I grew so tired of his attempts to have an informer on me my servants started changing with a staggering speed. Until I got Merlin. Or Merlin got me."

"What do you mean?" Mithian frowned.

_Bloody hell. Did I just say it?_

"Well, he... er... was not appointed to the position of my servant. He got it himself after saving my life."

"Saved your life? Where? At hunting?"

"Almost," Arthur grinned. "You ever knew Lady Helen from the Isle of Mora?"

"Irios overlooks Mora. My winter residence," Mithian reminded him. "Helen's Isle was a strait away, I've seen her countless times."

"Well, remember she went to Camelot?"

"You mean she died in Camelot," Mithian shivered. "Gods be good, we all thought Uther invited her to offer her marriage and instead he... Or, Arthur, I'm so sorry. I must not speak ill of your father."

"No, no, that's fine. You've helped me escape Lydon, without you I would've been... you know. You can speak however you like about my father."

"But you haven't said a single bad word about my father even though he was ready to sell you to Odin," Mithian's face was a study of kindness. "I appreciate it."

"Well..." Arthur suddenly felt it was getting too awkward. "Anyway, Helen. Lady Helen. When she arrived at Camelot, she gathered the court for a singing performance..."

"I hated to hear her sing," Mithian rolled her eyes. "She sounded like a seagull that caught cold."

"We couldn't have the chance to hear her sing at all," Arthur had but a vague recollection about that night. "It turned out Lady Helen had been killed on the way to Camelot. By a witch. A witch that somehow managed to steal Lady Helen's appearance. She looked completely like Lady Helen. Nobody could tell it wasn't her. When she began to sing, guests started falling asleep one by one, and then she threw a knife at me, and Merlin pushed me away and saved me. And got this position of a servant in a gesture of gratitude."

 _Oh, father, how fate does love to laugh. You appointed a warlock to serve me._ Mithian's eyes had the look of mistrust and a weak smile was hiding in the corners of her lips.

"You can't be serious? Can you? A witch stealing Lady Helen's appearance and making everybody fall asleep with her song? That sounds... childish."

"You don't believe in magic in Nemeth?"

"Oh, we know there were the old ways. We remember dragons well. But witches that could... well, that's just..."

"Witches are no less real than dragons, I'm afraid," Arthur sighed, recalling the sinister one that would haunt him after feast in the castle of Nemeton.

"But there are no more dragons," Mithian nodded. "Why would there be witches?"

***

The coastline on the right was composed of dark-grey cliffs rising more than two hundred feet high. Arthur wondered what falling off one of such cliffs would feel like and the fantasy tied a knot in his stomach. He had scarcely eaten the previous day, listening to Mithian's stories about her family. _She, too, has someone to worry about. She left mother in Irios and doesn't know what's to happen to her now._

But all the worries were finally brought closer to the moment of truth. The rocks were rising more than two hundred feet high, but ahead of them, Artur saw one special rock stepping into the sea, with two minor islands on both of her sides. The rock itself was of clay-gold colour, with, as legends would have people believe, mineshafts in the depths of it, where Ashkanar hid dragon eggs, dragon tunnels, gold veins protected by dragon ghosts, dungeons where people would be fed to dragons, storerooms with meat for the dragons and special dragon stables. _Dragons, dragons, dragons._

Clawing at the major rock, the castle on its top shone like a pearl even in the thinly spread shadows of predawn. Arthur could see two drum towers crowned with iron ramparts on the right side of the island and a white curtain wall studded with archers' nests, and recalled all the stairways, courtyards, balconies, and the most magnificent garden of the castle of Gedref. He wondered whether it was still in blossom. On the right side of the giant rock with the castle, they saw a lesser island with the Keep for kngihts' barracks, kitchens and servants' rooms. On the left side they saw the smallest island with a minor keep and watchtower. The islands were connected by bridges. Behind the castle island, the shore reached its highest point, and as it ran westward, it would descend into the sea, and where the shore and the sea kissed, Portstown stood, covering vast grounds.

Portstown was everything his father hated about a town. It lacked the order of the Lower Town streets, and from the ship Portstown looked like a great number of buildings all piled one on another as though some sea god had dropped them on the shore accidentally. Indeed, little clarity there seemed beyond the harbor crowded with galleys and fishing boats, where no less than thirty quays were lining up the waterfront. Beyond the harbor, one could get lost in the broad walking trees fashioned in Roman manner, with trees and fountains, or alleys so narrow that two persons couldn't pass abreast, or streets as smooth as humpbacks from the low hills. It was the city with granaries, storehouses and countless inns, merchant's stalls, taverns to quench one's thirst after a long voyage, where they cooked the best fish in Camelot, and brothels that could serve the whole crews if captains permitted. The best thing about Portstown was, however, the notion that it was walled.

“Portstown, the city of pleasures,” captain told them when Arthur was about to jump into the water and swim.

“Why do we slow down, captain?” he asked.

“Because I need to sail my sheep carefully into the harbor. My trading company would have my head if I…”

“Will you please drop a boat overboard and deliver us straight into the castle cavern?”

“Deliver? What are you two, a pair of expensive wine caskets?”

“No,” Arthur said. “I am Arthur of House Pendragon and this is Princess Mithian of Nemeth.”

***

The captain had taken four rowers with them into the boat. They had sailed past the Watchtower island: the castle rock was towering above them as high as the eye could see. Outside the trade galley, the waves didn’t seem as smooth and silky; the boat was swaying rather much, and Mithian had to hold Arthur by the arm. The sea waves kept licking the rock, leaving the traces of centuries on its bottom. The smell of salt and the breeze in the air promised something new, something different.

“Prince Arthur and Princess Mithian. Still can’t believe I was stupid enough to believe it,” the captain said and cursed.

“Their seals look real enough,” one of the rowers said.

“You know how many seals can be bought in the Seagate market?” captain snorted. “I can make myself a bloody king of Gawant. Bloody hell, if we are late for Inkwave…”  

“My crown will compensate whatever losses _Raunchy Mermaid_ may suffer,” Arthur promised. _Just bring me into bloody cavern_.

The captain smiled again, but Arthur could see that thirst for coins in his eyes _. He can’t miss such a chance. It might be the most profitable sail of his career._

On the western side of the rock, the giant cavern loomed, nicknamed “Dragon’s Jaws”, although to Arthur’s taste, it looked like a dragon’s grave. _Although it does resemble open jaws a little, hundred feet high and two hundred feet wide. And so black._

Their boat seemed tiny when they passed through the “Dragon’s Jaws” into a giant cave nested inside the rock. It had four stone quays and a small harbor of its own, and two arched doorways in the stone walls that seemed to be where the staircases leading to the castle started. It did look like a small harbor with a village, full of workers and guards, except for it was spread beneath a rock ceiling rather than an open sky, and the quays were empty because of the early hour.    

 “Declare yourselves!” a ginger man commanded when their boat stopped at the long stone quay.

“Arthur of House Pendragon," Arthur said, so frightened he'd seem afraid to Mithian. "Accompanied by Princess Mithian of Nemeth.”

Silence didn't last long; the face of the guard brightened, and he helped Mithian get out of the boat.

“Your majesty?! Is it really you? You’ve been expected! Jeym, race your fat arse upstairs and bring Lord Gedref at once!”

 _Lord Gedref? Has Owaine been bold enough to style himself as Lord? Oh, that's jolly good. Majesty. Your majesty. They call me majesty._ Arthur's sense of relief could be compared to an orgasm. _I am home. I am king here. Born to rule this land and I will. Only if you're at my side, my magic star. Where are you?_ Arthur gave the captain a forgiving look; when the rowers heard the guards address Arthur as "majesty", they sprang to their feet and nearly overturned the boat.

“Your majesty, we’ve kept watch patrols, we’ve established them all along the roads…" the guard kept muttering. "Londimium road through Burnwood, Deorham road, Denaria road and Brechfa road were all on the watch!”

“We thought a voyage by sea most fitting the current circumstances. What is your name, brave guard?” Arthur asked, placing his hand on the guard's shouldered; Arthur so wanted to hug this guard and all the other guards who were staring at him.

“Aisel. My name is Aisel, your majesty.”

“Tell, me Aisel, who rules the castle of Gedref?”

“Why, but Lord Gedref. Owaine, son of Orwell, is the Lord of Gedref and all its villages and towns.”

_Owaine is the greenest boy in the wide world. A Councilor of stinky socks, as Modron called him on our way to Nemeton. Now Lord of Gedref. He did it, he bloody did it! HE RAISED THE DAMN CASTLE. NOW MERLIN RAISE YOUR MAGIC BOTTOM AND GET HERE._

“And how has the king taken this news?” Arthur didn't care to hide a smile on his face.

“The king? Your majesty, we recognize no other king. Only you. Arthur of House Pendragon. Have you not seen the banners in Portstown?”

The captain lowered his gaze. _Does he recall calling my mother a whore during our voyage?_

“I’ve not been to Portstown yet.”

“The boat can take you to Portstown anytime.” 

"I think I shall meet Lord Gedref first."

_“ARTHUR!”_

Owaine appeared from the arched doorway in the stone wall and was running faster than a street dog, the way he'd always run at the training field when Arthur would scream at them and give commands. He recalled them all, Aglovale and Evaine, Hengest, Modron and Owaine, laughing in the sun the day Merlin had brought them some food. _They could all be so happy._ Owaine's face and hands were a shade darker; summer agreed with his white hair and his shamelessly boyish smile. He sprang into Arthur's arms _. Lord Gedref, my arse._ He could feel Owaine's silk tunic clinging to his chest in the thick and moist air of the cavern. On the breast of Owaine's tunic, the mermaid of his house was embroided in gold thread, blowing a kiss.

“Owaine! You did it! The castle’s ours!” Arthur petted him on the back, running out of words to express his gratitude.

“I barely had to do anything!" Owaine smiled at him. "I just told them the whole story, and they were furious! It was the last… Arthur, who’s?...”

Owaine looked perplexed once he recognized a comely dark-haired girl in sand-silk pants, woven grass sandals and a painted vest.

“Oh. Right. May I present to you Princess Mithian of Nemeth. She’s to be our honorable guest and an ally in our fight.”

“My lord,” Mithian bowed down.

“Princess Mithian? Arthur, is this?... Are you really princess Mithian?” Owaine asked, giving Arthur a "you must be japing" look.

“I have seals to prove my identity, if you insist," Mithian said with royal politeness. “You must be brave Sir Owaine?”

“I… no. I mean, yes, I’m Owaine, but I’ve not been knighted yet, but I’m a Sir. But here, I’m a lord, you know. I’m the Lord of Gedref and…”

_Why is he blushing._

“Listen, _the Lord of Gedref._ Please, will you ask your dear servants to find some chambers for Princess Mithian? We’ve had a long journey. And please reward all these brave men with gold and silver for delivering me safely to the castle of Gedref,” Arthur added, nodding at captain of _Raunchy Mermaid_ and the rowers who were studying him with disbelief in their eyes. _This story will be all over Portstown before midday._

“Of course," Owaine nodded at his guards. "Princess Mithian needs chambers. I mean, will you please escort Princess Mithian to the dinner hall and see that you prepare some chambers for her? And tell the treasurer we'll need gold and silver for the boat crew who delivered King Arthur to the castle.”

“I shall see you later, princess,” Arthur told Mithian as the guards escorted her into the right doorway. Owaine and Arthur took a different staircase that was winding up the stone walls in the utter darkness. Owaine cleared his throat.

“Arthur, are you and her?...”

“No. But she’s comely.”

“She is,” Owaine said.

“Listen here, lover-boy. We’ll talk about comely girls later," Arthur said, counting the steps. _Fourteen_. "We’ll have time. Has Merlin arrived?”

“No. I’ve given commands to all the guards. If they hear a name “Merlin” they will report it at once.”

_There's no need to worry, no need to worry. He still has time. Come on, say something. Twenty-six._

“Good. He’s supposed to come the day after tomorrow. Now to us. How fairs the rebellion?”

“I arrived five days ago. The castle and Portstown have declared for you.”

“Thank you. Thank you, Owaine, thank you so much! I’m really happy to hear it. How many men do you think to raise in Portstow?”

“Shall... we... follow.... one-in-ten rule," Owaine started breathing heavier, for the staircase got steeper. "Two... hundred... maybe. Slightly... less or more....”

“What... of... other... Gedref... towns?”

 _Fourty_.

“I’ve... sent... messages... to Burnwood, Breninwall and Doomspath. I’ve sent... them the letter... we’ve written... and the new letters... with the seal... of Gedref council members. We’ve... received no response so far...”

 _Fifty_.

It was gloomy news, though far from darkness. After Arthur counted seventy-two, the staircase led them out through the door in the walls of a mighty arch. To the right was the exit to a beautiful terrace which overlooked Portstown, far below and ahead, although Arthur could hear the clamor of the fish market and the hungry screams of seagulls even at this distance. To the right, a corridor let into some bigger hall.

"It's the granary. Come, follow me."

Owaine led him out of the arch onto the terrace garden where they took a path left. The sea seemed again smooth and silky, and _Raunchy Mermaid_ looked as big as a toy ship kids would play with in the puddles. _I am so high._ The garden was prepped by a two-storey gallery wall on the left. And before long, they took another staircase that brought them a level higher, to the doors that led into the magnificent garden Arthur remembered from his last visit. It was a lavish work, an oasis on the top of the rock protected from the sun by walls on three sides and the Keep on the fourth. Suddenly, Arthur felt tired, as though his body had been waiting for this moment to fall asleep in the most impregnable castle he could ever dream of. _Wait, Ryence. It may be that your trial takes place here. Speaking of Ryence._

“How large are Burnwood, Breninwall and Doomspath? The towns you've asked for help? Who holds them?”

“Breninwall is ruled by mother’s family, House Rysor," Owaine said in an assuring tone. "They will join us, I’m sure. Their town’s not very big, it’s closer to Deorham border and does not have more than a thousand people, but Lord Rysor also owns six villages and six more settlements. They can raise hundred men to join our army.”

“Doomsspath?”

“A different story," Owaine winced. "A town at the crossing of river Sabrina and Denaria road. The seat of House Lludwig, who were always proud idiots that insisted they had rights over the castle of Gedref because their great grandfather was knighted by Prince Reginald himself.”

“And Burnwood?”

“Burnwood’s ruled by House Godyn. Mom was always fond of them ‘cause they are on Londinium road and when she was younger, she would travel to Burnwood and buy some fancy things. Their town has some thousand and two hundred people, if Gedref records can be trusted. House Godyn owns another four villages and eight settlements. If Burnwood supports us, we can add another hundred men to your army.”

“Good. So if all the three houses of Gedref answer to your call, they will bring three hundred swords at best. Together with two hundred already in Portstown, that would be five hundred soldiers. What of Modron?”

“I’ve had no news from Modron," Owaine swallowed sadness. "If all Nemeton lords and ladies answer to his father’s call, Modron will bring another five hundred.”

“Which would make it one thousand," Arthur was counting in his head. "One thousand soldiers is not enough to overthrow Ryence and make him answer for his crimes.”

“Arthur, Ryence is dead," Owaine said worriedly.

Cool green light blinded him, and the gentle breeze that was carrying the scents of fruit and flowers wrapped all the scents around him and shoved them up his nostrils. Arthur felt sick.

“What?! When?!”

“We received the news just yesterday. Might be he died some time ago. He was killed in the Royal Tower, they say.”

_Is fate finally smiling at me? I am at the castle of Gedref and Ryence is dead._

“Who killed him?”

“You, of course.”

“Me?!”

“Yrien wants everybody to believe it was your wraith who slaughtered the king.”

_Oh. I might have jumped to conclusions with fate's smile._

“Is she ruling the kingdom now?”

“She probably is. Who else? Rion’s too young. His mother must be regent by law.”

“Does she… know about our rebellion?”

“If so, she hasn’t let us know,” the Lord of Gedref shrugged.

“Owaine, if she decides to send her army to destroy us, which way will they choose?”

“We have established watch over roads. There are two roads from here that lead to the castle of Camelot. One goes through western Brechfa, through the castle of Brechfa and the castle of Woodspeak. The other is the Camelot road, or the Southern road, as they call it in the castle of Camelot. It’s the old roman road, the one we took when we rode to patrol. It goes through the castle of Chemary and Burnwood.”

“But if she sends her army down the Roman road, they will _swamp_ Burnwood,” Arthur thought, tired to the point of fainting.

“They most probably will,” Owaine nodded, implying he could do nothing about it.

“Then we must spend all the forces we can on helping women and children in Burnwood get out of town. Move them elsewhere. To some villages closer to Isgaard. Farther away from the road. They can come here, if they want.”

“That will be done at once, Arthur.”

 _Fruit trees and flowers_ , Arthur thought, looking around. _And an arbour. Merlin would so love it. He’d spent days plucking flowers here, I’m sure. And I’d be laughing at him and then kissing him. Merlin, please, come here and pluck all these silly flowers. Just stay with me._  

“Owaine, how did you learn about Ryence’s death?”

“A man brought it. He wanted to meet you, blimey, Arthur, I got so excited I forgot it. He escaped Camelot once he heard of the rebellion. He served to your father and he means to serve you now.”

“What’s his name?”

“Lord Cynric. Shall I call for him?”

_Cynric, Cynric… Who’s that? Oh, right, Father's Trade Councilor. With a goatee._

“No. No, that will wait until tomorrow. Now I need to present myself to your court and listen to how you've managed to raise the castle for me.”

"Listen to me?" Owaine laughed as they started walking towards the keep. "How about you say something? Why did you choose to sail?"

"Er... That's a long story," Arthur said, laughing at King Rodor in his head. _Good luck selling me to Odin next time, your majesty._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh my, the countdown begins, it's now 14 chapters left. Morgana's "Lessons in Magic" will be next!


	69. Lessons In Magic

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana spends some time in Idirsholas after Morgause rides to Camelot with Anna Dindrane.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

Merlin had disappeared. The wretched servant could not be found anywhere, as though he had simply vanished in a puff of smoke. The druid guarding the cells claimed that he had fallen asleep for a _moment_ , and when he woke up, the cells were empty. _You're lucky my sister was too preoccupied with following Anna Dindrane to the castle of Camelot. Else you'd enjoy a sleep that would last forever._

"He's been here because of me, Alvarr, that's certain," Morgana cried, pressing herself into Alvarr's embrace. "He plans to kill me. He wants to see me dead, I don't know why, Goddess, I don't..."

"Morgana, gather yourself. You've just ruined the dominion of one of the most powerful slavetraders in Essetir, you can't be wailing because of some serving boy!" Alvarr laughed.

"But he was here! As he was in Greenswood, as he’ll be in…!"

"Morgana, listen," he said, cupping her cheeks and trying to let their gazes melt into one. "This Merlin didn't _plan_ to come here. He was captured by guards. They captured his mercenary master, too. It's an accident, a terrible one. Besides, how could he have _planned_ you'd be at Idirsholas? You didn't know it yourself."

If everything was as Avlarr tried to make her believe, then why did she feel weakness in her shoulders at the thought of Merlin hiding somewhere out there in the shackles of old buildings in the Middle Level and Lower Level? _I can't demand to search them all, the town's too bloody vast. Grey Keep is the safest place in Idirsholas._

She hated Merlin for making her weak. She had returned from Essetir victorious, uniting Camelot and Essetir tribes of druids in their fight for freedom, for legitimisng magic and for having the guarantees for their rights. She had returned a conqueror forged in battle, for she had made one of the most dreadful slavetraders of north-western Essetir suffer justice for the atrocities that could make people's blood curdle. She had returned a seer, unmasking, mayhaps, one of the greatest secrets of druids - that a boy named Mordred could be the last dragonlord.

But after learning about Merlin's escape, all her achievements burned in the great fire of fear, and there was naught but ashes of victories left to her. Instead of thinking about ways to strengthen the holdfast of Idirsholas, she kept thinking about the reasons that could have made Merlin come to the castle. Anna Dindrane's words about Merlin clearly riding away to Brechfa with Arthur seemed to make little sense, too. _Well, judging by the wrinkles on her face, she is old. Maybe things got a little confused in her head? How would Merlin serve in a patrol? Under no bloody circumstances would Arthur ever take this boy with him. He seemed strangely fond of him at times, but that's just because Merlin seemed the first... Well, anyway. Merlin's new mercenary master got captured by our hunting party, and he was captured easily, as well. Patrols require skill Merlin lacks._

Morgause didn't ride away with Lady Dindrane until the Grey Keep and the Watchtower were searched, and some of the important buildings in the Middle Level as well. Nothing suspicious had been reported, except for maybe two horses running away from the stables, but Morgana had told them to keep a close watch on the stables after the initial trip to Idirsholas. _There are holes and cracks in these walls, some large enough for horses to squeeze themselves through them. Besides, Merlin's and his master's horses had remained. Why would they take different stallions? No, those horses just ran away because the stables are poorly organized._

Before Morgause departed, the priestess had left Morgana something she didn't expect - a heavy black volume.

"This is the history of our Isle, sister. I want you to read it before we start your training."

 _Training. I am to study, Goddess. I shall be a witch, a proper one._ So far, her magic seemed to be rooted in impulses of her psyche, in the strongest desires or fears that resonated with her heart. She smiled, thinking of all the ways Morgause could teach her to control her magic through spells muttered in that odd language, through potions and through enchanted objects. _My foes are strong and I have to be stronger._

And since Morgana couldn't sleep after Merlin's escape had been announced, she read. In modest bedchambers with hay mattresses on the floor, Alvarr, beastly tired, had eaten his bowl of bean-and-lamb soup and before long was snoring so loud it appeared a flock of bats was singing in her room. Morgana kept a fat tallow candle burning to illuminate the loose pages tied up in twine.

#### ISLE OF THE BLESSED: ORIGINS

"In the days long gone but not forgotten, the tribes of men lived in great danger in the forests of Albion, where griffins, dragons, goblins, trolls, wolves, scorpions, spiders and pixies bred. Once upon a time, men discovered the Lake of Avalon - a lake which at the same time served as a magic realm for the Sidhe, the mightiest and the wisest creatures of magic.

Men begged the Sidhe to teach them the arts of magic, for only magic could protect people in the forests where griffins, dragons, goblins, trolls, wolves, scorpions, spiders and pixies bred. The Sidhe were kind to agree, for they believed in the good hearts of men."

_That's interesting. Alvarr told me Sidhe agreed to reveal the secrets of magic arts to men because men agreed to offer bloody sacrifices to the Sidhe. Somebody's lying here. Either druids or this book. Where did Morgause get it?_

"And soon people that dwelled near Avalon began to study magic and use it to protect themselves from the cruel creatures haunting the woods. Once upon a time came a grim day when a group of people ruined peace. They tamed dragons, sealed the gates of Avalon and exiled most people from Avalon, seeking to establish their cruel reign over the lake. They called themselves dragonlords."

_And Alvarr said people decided to tame dragons to use them in their fight against those who suggested to rely on magic while establishing control over non-magic tribes. Everything is different in this book._

"The dragonlords kept attacking the exiled group, seeking to burn everybody who had magic. People who were terrified by the wrath of dragonlords fled, and went westward, until they reached the land of Landshire and found an isle where they could build new home. We called this place the Isle of the Blessed and ourselves - the tribe of Meredoc.

For hundreds of years the Isle defied the tyranny of dragonlords, and we remained unbroken and free. We lived on the Isle of the Blessed without any particular purpose. The only aim was to preserve whatever magical traditions left to us after our tribe was cast away from the Lake of Avalon.

However, as years passed, we found ourselves surrounded by the Ancient Kingdom of Daobeth. Our people who had managed to preserve the gifts of magic found a way to earn their bread. We would use magic to help people of Ancient Kingdom of Daobeth and they would pay us with food in return."

_Help people of Ancient Kingdom of Daobeth? I like that. But in what way?_

"To help people of Ancient Kingdom of Daobeth in their troubles, we created enchanted rings, medallions, chains, lockets, necklaces and other things people would wear, trying to give some magic features to this object (healing, protection). We also learnt to enchant blades and bows to make these weapons more effective. Finally, we mastered the craft of potions and elixirs for the purposes of healing, love and all sorts of reasons."

When she got tired of reading, she let herself crawl beneath Alvarr's blanket and fell asleep, cuddling at him, surprised at how low her reading candle had burnt.

***

Come morning, and Morgna washed her face in the basin and left her chambers, for the air of the Grey Keep still seemed helpless and haunting. _Why does this whole bloody castle look as though it blames the whole wide world for being abandoned? Where's Alvarr?_

Morgana emerged from the Grey Keep beneath the sky overrun by downy white clouds traveling east, and she thought a raindrop might have just landed on the tip of her nose. Beneath the white of the sky, Idirsholas looked even more bleak, no matter how many people The Middle Level and the Lower Level of towns were hosting.

"You've seen Alvarr, by any chance?" she asked two druids who were pulling a table up the stairs.

"Down in the Watchtower. Holding council," one man replied in a glum voice.

_Council? Why hasn't he invited me?_

She thanked them and descended the staircase, passing a yard where lads were having a training session behind an improvised armory. _They are fierce and armed, but they are still weaker than Camelot knights._ _We don't have much mail and armors. They'd be as good as meat for knives at the battle field. Is Morgause's plan with Cenred going to work? Will she succeed in killing Vidor? When will she be back?_

The Watchtower was occupied by druid commanders and leaders, and she reckoned it was there where Morgause had seen Merlin being pulled by a horse to the castle gates. The solar was located at the highest level, and Morgana found herself puffing by the time she reached the damn room. The view opening from the windows permitted a clear glimpse at all the land around the castle, save for the north-eastern side, where the rock stood. She saw rolling lifeless hills in the south, forests of Andor to the east, and brown grasslands far to the west. In the solar, it was the Triskelion gathering again, except for that toothless fool Lochru was nowhere to be seen. _So much the better for him._

Finna's smile was so kind it could make her crooked nose look beautiful, and there was a new, green turban on her head. Ruadan' grey beard had grown a little longer, and even his permanently frowning face was mimicking smile.

"Morgana," Finna looked so happy Morgana expected she'd start clapping now. "We all heard so much about your feats, your bravery, your moving speech for the Essetir clans! Oh, how good it is to have a leader like you in our midst!"

 _Alvarr is much capable a leader. He had been one during Uther's reign, when any druid activity would mean having your life at stake._ Alvarr was smiling at her, too. Ruadan acknowledged her presence with a modest nod and said that her achievements would never be forgotten by the druid folk. _I am not in it for the glory. I want freedom. I don't want a single druid child to be afraid of who he or she is._

"Thank you, Finna," Morgana smiled, and shot a sore a look at Alvarr. _Why haven't you told me about the Council?_ "Forgive me for being late. Alvarr didn't... Well, anyway. Have I missed something?"

"We were selecting more warriors to be sent to Essetir, to ensure the highest security to all the food carts moving to Idirsholas," Alvarr announced. "Druids can cross Essetir border with Camelot easily, but once on the Mercian road and with carts piled with food, heading for Idirsholas... they might risk being stopped by knights or something."

"Then we shall seize the trade road," Morgana suggested.

"Impossible," Ruadan shook his head. "Druid rebellion is one thing. It hasn't influenced the crown's incomes in any way. If we upset crown's trade with Mercia, knights will be upon us, and not mere patrols."

"I think the crown's attention will be drawn to the West if Morgause manages to kill Vidor," Morgana disagreed. "Mercia is in the east."

"For the castle of Camelot, maybe," Finna pursed her lips. "But for King Bayard..."

"We can't risk dragging Mercian crown into this conflict," Alvarr explained to her. "He signed truce with Uther after one of the longest periods of crown's enmity in history. Mercia is mighty. Ever since they've settled their peace with Anglia and cast Essetir off the Wide Bay, the king's power is solid there. If he takes our actions as... undermining the treaty he signed with Camelot, a new war may be upon us. Not even Cenred's army would help us if Bayard were provoked."

_We had Bayard in cells when he came to Camelot. We should've kept him there, since he allowed Wide Bay merchants to buy slaves from Jarl. Goddess, Merlin drank from a poisoned chalice during Bayard's visit. What an irony. He nearly died from poison himself and then poisoned me._

"But we need this road, carts can't be... Carts need road," Morgana said hopelessly. _Have all my efforts been in vain? No, no, no._

"That's what I am suggesting," Alvarr said. "Instead of seizing the road and risking to provoke Bayard, we shall organize a camp close to the border between Essetir and Camelot. There, carts will have a base. From that camp on, we should not let the carts travel one by one. There will be caravans, protected by dozens of druid warriors. We would be traveling down the road disguised as merchants, and if the knights of Camelot are ever... too curious, well, then I pity them."

The Council ended with listing all the warriors fit for the tasks and choosing locations for more riders to visit and spread word for fellow druids that the castle of Idirsholas and the river of Andor were now welcoming druids. Finna promised gold from the Isle of Catha.

After the Council, they went to Middle Level to break their fast.

"Why haven't you called me to the Council?" Morgana asking fumingly.

"You looked so sweet in your sleep. I thought you were tired. I heard you reading some book until late hour, and I thought... to let you sleep longer."

Her heart was melting as she threw her arms around him and gifted him an awkward kiss, for they were both smiling and their lips couldn't fit.

"Can't be angry at you, no matter what," she said, taking him by the hand. "Speaking about the book. I was reading the Origins of the Isle of the Blessed. And... Well, there is a different version of events on its pages. Somebody's lying?"

"Sure thing somebody's lying. Druids say dragonlords were peacekeepers who protested using magic to rule non-magic tribes and thus tamed seven great dragons to dispose of everybody who didn't agree with their course. Priestesses, pardon, priestess would say dragonlords were tyrants who seized the Lake of Avalon by taming dragons and wanted all the power of magic for themselves."

"And what is the truth?"

"Only spirits and crystals know, it would seem," Alvarr shrugged. "You'd do well not to believe every damn word in that book."

"Why would Morgause want me to read it?" Morgana frowned.

"Who knows? But that's very like us."

"Like who?"

"Like druids," Alvarr kissed her hand. "We, too, start teaching our kids with the legends of our past before we proceed to magic skills. Maybe Morgause wants you to understand the traditions she is planning to keep?"

"You think she'll kill Vidor?"

"Well," Alvarr showed her the blue bruises on his neck left by Morgause's wrath the previous evening. "I think Sir Vidor doesn't stand a chance."

After breaking their fast with fried eggs and dark bread, they separated: Alvarr kept planting kisses on her cheeks until he was summoned by commanders to instruct new-made warriors. Morgana went to work at the trenches.

***

After a day of trenches’ labor, she got so tired she felt asleep quicker than Alvarr and woke up the following morning with an idea to never go to the trenches again. Instead, she spent her morning listening to blacksmiths and their demands, learning of ways to help them forge more blades. _Are we to open iron mines? Gwen’s father could be of use as a blacksmith. He was one of the finest._

After midday, she was back to her chambers to continue reading.

#### BLACK ERA

"Once upon a time a witch from the Isle and her companions were looking for herbs for magic potions when they discovered the Grove of the Old Religion where they met the Disir – the High Court of Triple Goddess herself. Terrified and amazed by their power, people from the Isle of the Blessed begged the Disir for knowledge and even performed a bloody sacrifice in the Grove to the Tripple Goddess. The Disir were furious at Isle people for spilling blood in the holy place, and ever since those days, entering the Disir cave with weapons or spilling blood in the Grove is no longer tolerated by the Disir."

_Killing somebody for the sake of learning some magic secrets? That witch was... passionate._

"However, such a step didn’t pass unnoticed: the Dark Goddess applauded the witch's efforts and ever since that day, the chief witch called _priestess_ would perform a bloody sacrifice on the longest night of year to tear the veil between the two worlds, and the priestess who did it was awarded with a state of trance where she could learn the new depths of magic. Such sacrifices, however, would let the Dorocha in the world until the veil was repared."

_What's a Dorocha? Something not very pleasant, I assume. And this Dark Goddess. I never thought about it. Indeed! Tripple Goddess. Dark, White and ... what? Grey? Green? Red?_

"Through these sacrifices the Isle priestess learnt:

 **necromancy** , the powerful magic of summoning the dead in various forms, in the form of Dorocha, in the form of Wraith and in the form of Shade.

 **breathing life into creatures of magic** by hunting other creatures and sacrificing them to the Dark Goddess. The creatures of magic created by the Ilse were _:_ _Fomorroh, Lamia, Eanacanah, Afanc, Wyvern and Manticore."_

_This Dorocha again. Wraith, well, I saw a wraith. When Gwen and I watched Uther fight the black knight that turned out to be Sir Tristan. Oh, bloody hell, his face... A horrible sight. Uther shoved a blade into his chest and the wraith just burnt to pieces. I give him credit, Uther never escaped single combats. And all these Fomorroh, Lamia, Eanacanah, Afanc, what are they?_

"Triumphant from the success of creating a Fomorroh, a priestess proceeded into creating a _Manticore_ , which ended in a disaster: she was transformed into a Manticore herself when she attempted to gain the power of limitless energy from magic chest through which Manticore was summoned from the spirit world. The priestess disappeared in the chest which was later drowned in the pool of Nemaihn."

 _What a terrible end. Yet what a contribution to the Isle_. _After her, the Isle was not just a place where people of Daobeth Kingdom could buy enchanted rings and love potions. It became a place where the power of necromancy and magic creatures was studied._

 It was past evenfall when Morgana heard a loud bang and the gust of black wind opened the door of her chambers and flipped the pages of the book. She sprang to her feet, ready to call for help.

“Sister,” a weak voice called for her.

She saw Morgause enter her room. There was blood on her hair, and her face was damper than ever.

“Morgause! What happened to you? Morgause!”

_Where is Gaius? I need a physician! Oh, damn, what Gaius?_

She rushed to her sister, and Morgause staggered against her. _She is weak. Oh, Goddess, what happened?_

“Morgause, are you alright?”

“I have been better,” Morgause said weakly. “Two whirlwind spells in two months… Is a bit too much for me…”

Having said that, Morgause, much to her sister’s horror, sank onto the floor.

_NO!_

Morgana rushed to the corridor and shouted for help, but there seemed nobody to be seen in Grey Keep at dinner time. _I must somehow help her._

“We need to get you to some druid physician,” Morgana said.

“No. It would do no good. It’s just whirlwind spell. The last time I did it when I rescued you from the castle, I felt dizzy for some time, too.”

 _Dizzy? You look like you’re about to pass!_ Suddenly, a sense of bitter-sweet gratitude began to conquer Morgana’s heart. _She has done so much for me. Rescued me from the castle. Saved me from Merlin’s poison. Brought me to the druids and gave the healing drink. She cared about me so much and allowed me not to marry Rion after some weak debates. Who’s done more for me?_

“Besides, I must not look weak to them,” Morgause muttered. “Carry me to my chambers, please.”

“Morgause, it’s not about your stupid looks! You’re in danger and…”

“Carry me to my chambers, sister. Please,” Morgause repeated weakly.

“What happened?” Morgana asked frightfully as she slowly kept leading her sister along the corridor. “Why is there blood on your…”

“Some wretched serving wench threw a glass goblet. Hit me right on the head. I would have ended her life, but the guards… I had to use the spell quicker.”

“I heard Iseldir has mastered the art of twinkling. He can disappear in one place and appear at another.”

“But I am not Iseldir, sister,” Morgause’s voice was dying, “Whirlwind spell consumes much of my powers. Especially now, for the last time I used it was not long ago.”

Morgana lowered her sister on the bed and found a water basin and a cloth to wash her wound. _Goddess, let it not be serious._

“Was a whirlwind spell dangerous for me back then?” Morgana asked as she tried to tend to Morgause’s wound. _Thank Goddess it’s not deep._

“Oh, yes. I feared more about the spell rather than Merlin’s poison. Luckily, I’ve brewed enough healing potion for you. When you ran away to Essetir, though, you forgot it.”

“I… right, I forgot it. I’m so sorry. Can it be why I saw Uther in my dream? Crying tears of blood?”

“An ill omen,” Morgause shuddered. “Now please, give me the potion, Morgana. Purple waterskin,” her voice was but a thin whisper.

Morgana poured it in the same cup she remembered back from the crystal cave.

“Morgause, you look very bad. I will go ask for help.”

“You are the only one who can help me now. Please.”

“What?! What can I do? I know nothing of potions, I just read that book about the origins of the isle and the black era and…”

“Morgana,” the corners of Morgana’s mouth twitched a little. “It is not you who ought to panic. Please. You are powerful enough, with your help, I will recover soon.”

“What will I need?”

“Just a drop of your blood.”

 _Blood, flesh and bone,_ Morgana remembered Morgause tell her in the crystal cave. _We become priestesses by offering our blood, flesh and bones to the Triple Goddess. I must save her._

Morgana cut her finger with a dagger and let drops of blood splash the dark-green potion that turned purple all of a sudden. Morgause drank greedily.

“Now you,” she handed what remained in the cup to Morgana.

Morgana drank, too, wincing at the disgusting taste, hoping it was not her blood that made the potion so awful. And then the cup fell from her hands, for she saw Morgause’s eyes close as the power seemed to leave the priestess. _She is asleep. Or dead._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 13 chapters left *IS IT FOR REAL*
> 
> check 
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> Thanks for following !


	70. Until Her Last Breath

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana spends time by Morgause as the priestess seems caught between life and death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

Alvarr found Morgana himself, as though he had felt something was wrong. When help arrived, Morgause was unconscious and pale; Morgana sat by her sister's bed, holding her wrist and feeling the priestess's pulse slow down. _She is fading._

Come night, and the castle of Idirsholas put on a gown of darkness which so became the old labyrinth of stones and dragon spells. Druids came one by one, they were touching her forehead and reading some spells, others suggested Morgause were brought into the forests where they'd ask spirits for help. Yet no matter how many times Morgana would see their eyes flash golden, Morgause would lie still and refuse to wake up. _She didn't want. She didn't want to be seen weak,_ Morgana thought, crying like a child.

 _What could have gone wrong? Why would a whirlwind spell have such an effect?_ She remembered them part when Morgause rode to Essetir to meet Cenred. _"Morgana, we'll have to part. I need to pay a visit to Cenred. I'm still too weak to repeat the whirlwind spell, and I'll have to travel alone."_

_But that happened so recently. Oh, Goddess, how much time has passed since that day? Nine days? Ten? No more. Why would she think she'd become strong enough to use a whirlwind spell in just ten days? She said my blood would help, but nothing works. Maybe something's wrong with my blood?_

Morgana didn't want to take her sister to the forests and leave her for the spirits' mercy. _She wanted to be here. With me. Maybe she knew she had suffered too strong a blow? I wonder what serving wench had thrown a goblet at her head..._

The candle was burning low. Morgana thanked all the druids for help. Ruadan's frowning expression was grimmer than usual.

"Morgause was a fierce warrior against Uther and all the powers who supressed magic," the druid commander said. "She fought until her last breath."

 _She is still alive. Don't you dare speak of her as though she's gone._ Morgana wanted to scream at Ruadan, or make him fly and choke the way Morgause had made Alvarr, but Alvarr caught her gaze and tried to soften her with a touch of his hand.

"Thank you, Ruadan," Morgana nodded. "Your kindness is appreciated. Will you please let me spend the night with my sister?"

"Of course," Ruadan nodded. "I leave you alone. Come, Alvarr."

"No. Alvarr can stay," Morgana coughed.

Ruadan left without saying a word. Morgana sank in Alvarr's arms.

"What is happening? Alvarr, what did she do wrong?" Morgana asked, her sight lost to tears.

"We can't know. Whirlwind spells are dangerous and require a great skill. Sometimes splinching may occur."

"What?"

"Splinching. It's when... well, not all body parts arrive at the destination."

"Are you... serious?"

"Yes. Sometimes people lost their arms in a whirlwind spell. It's a quick way of getting out of somewhere and traveling long distances, but it's dangerous."

"But her body is fine! Apart from that wound on her head, but it's not serious. Alvarr, why can't anybody help?!" she suddenly roared. "What good is magic if we can't heal the ones we love?!"

She was inhaling heavily, and her chest was rising so high she was afraid she'd start breathing out fire.

"Morgana, I can't know. But if you wish, I will stay with you all night and... pray to Tripple Goddess that Morgause lives. Even to the Isle of the Blessed."

"That's not... necessary. I can spend all night by her side, I shall not leave her. I know you're tired," Morgana caressed his cheek. "Just bring me some water, please. I want to be alone with her for some time."

He kissed her a goodnight and was gone. When Alvarr left, Morgana drew the curtains and glanced at Morgause, wondering if she remembered their mother. _Goddesss, we haven't talked about her, not a single time. It felt awkward. She was raised by other... priestesses, she said. Although... she left the castle of Camelot when she was four? Six? I remember I saw a vision about her..._

She must have fallen asleep, holding Morgause's soft arm. In her dreams, she saw the living and the dead alike. She saw Uther's tomb in Camelot crypts, where silence seemed to be woven from grief and darkness. There was something else in the crypt, something hidden deeper in a place where nobody would discover it. She heard a shrill raven's cry from underneath the tombs. She saw a Pendragon banner, fat golden dragon on red, flapping at the high drum tower of some pearl-white castle; from the top of the tower, she could glimpse at a town by the sea, full of happy voices until the dragon's shadow crossed the sky. This dragonshadow came from Idirsholas, from the place where she stayed, it crawled out of dragon caves and suddenly...

Suddenly, she saw the street of the Middle Level, the eastern sky was the pale calm before the storm of sunrise, and she spotted the yard where she had seen the boys training. Merlin appeared, slinking along the street. He fished out some key from the pocket and unlocked the door, and when he emerged from the armory, he had a dagger in his hand. Terrified, she watched him crawl up the staircase that led to the Grey Keep. On and on he went, until she realized he was walking the corridor with his blade flashing in the darkness. Alvarr was sleeping and snoring, he just couldn't see Merlin enter the room. And then Merlin sliced his dagger into Alvarr's heart, and the world ended.

Morgana woke up in screams, just like she did when she dreamed of Uther crying tears of blood in Camelot. Morgause was lying on the bedsheets, and the light of dawn was echoing over the eastern forest-lined horizon. _She doesn't look like on her deathbed anymore. She doesn't_. Morgana checked her sister's pulse and breathing _. She's alive. Alive and looks stronger than yesterday. Maybe I panicked? Maybe the healing potion just needs time to... well, work?_

The guard rushed into her room.

"Morgana? You called for help?!"

"No," she said, tucking Morgause's blanket. "No, I just saw a bad dream. What hour?"

"Sunrise is upon us," the guard said. "How fairs your sister?"

"She looks stronger, but she still doesn't... She's asleep. Been asleep the whole night..."

"That's what people do at night," the guard smiled. "They sleep, right?"

_Oh, how funny._

"Can you look after her?" Morgana asked. "My back aches from sleeping in this chair, I just wanted to wash my face and sleep for a couple of hours. If she wakes up, call for me."

"Of course," the guard nodded.

Morgana walked the corridor, thinking about how much time it would take her to get rid of Merlin nightmares. _Maybe I better wear Morgause’s healing bracelet again. These visions I get... They are just like Iseldir told me they'd be. Mentally disturbing. I saw a dragon trying to burn me in the snow field. I saw some stupid raven flying in Camelot, and today I heard his shrill in the crypts. Pendragon's banner and dragon shadow over some city. And Goddess, I saw Uther crying tears of blood and Merlin stabbing Alvarr. The only assumption I got from my gift of seer is that Mordred may be the last dragonlord. But where is the boy?_

She walked into her modest chambers, nearly stumbling over the book that fell out of her arms when Morgause appeared in the castle the previous days. _I must keep it safe. Maybe I find some bits of history useful. Obviously I'd rather have Alvarr tell me legends, just like on our way to Essetir. Beside the fire spitting sparks and stars flickering above us._

She tried not to wake him up, for she knew Alvarr savored his sleep. He’d often complain training sessions of new warriors were starting too early and that he couldn’t train with an empty stomach and that a warrior who had not slept enough was vulnerable at the battlefield. He wasn’t sleeping; he had his look fixed on her, most probably awoken by her screams after the dream and the noise she’d made when she’d stumbled over the book.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I forgot it here yesterday when Morgause arrived. I wouldn’t have left it on the floor. They say there are mice again, and Geoffrey would always complain that mice were chewing his books.”

She placed it on a stone that served as table and got under the blanket as quickly as she could, trying to keep out the morning cold.

“She’s fine,” Morgana told him. “Better, a lot better than she looked. Yesterday she nearly died, and I kept counting her fingers after you told about that… splinching. That sounds horrible, losing your body parts to a whirlwind spell. You hear me?”

She turned around. Alvarr’s look remained so fixed he wasn’t even blinking. Wasn’t even… Wasn’t…

Morgana’s hand felt something wet on the blanket. Wet and red. _Blood_. She threw the blanket away and saw that his tunic was soaked with it, blood had been pouring from his heart and stopped a while ago. _He was stabbed!_

“ALVARR!”

His look was fixed on the wall, and his eyes were wide open, that’s why he couldn’t die, dead people lie with their eyes closed, she knew it, everybody knew it, every child knew it. She kept pushing him, grabbing him by the arms, by the arms where she belonged, his arms were the only place where she ever belonged, then why would they be so weak, why would they not respond, why would he lie, where did this blood come from, he kissed me goodnight, he kissed me goodnight, HE KISSED ME GOODNIGHT!

“ALVARR! ALVARR! NO! NO! NO!” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It was a sickening thing to write, it truly was. 
> 
> 12 chapters left in the fic now
> 
> I wonder if with all these deaths of King Ryence and Alvarr I should put a secondary character death warning in tags?
> 
> For updates: 
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	71. Bravery and Nobility

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lady Yrien finds out Vidor's murder may have even more undesirable consequences for her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yrien POV

There were riots in the Lower Town.

In the falling dusk, Yrien saw the crowd gather at the Merchant's Square by the Silver Gate, shouting and demanding justice for Vidor. The news of Camelot's champion death at the hand of Dark Witch had provoked righteous anger among the commoners, who were still digesting the sudden and unexpected death of King Ryence. _King Ryence the Liberator they call him for defeating Cenred's army. King Ryence the Liberator and Uther the Great. Are they good at anything save for coming up with stupid nicknames for their kings?_

" _UTHER! UTHER! UTHER!_ " they were chanting.

"They are screaming the late king's name and some are demanding a new purge," Sir Logsheath told her after she had written a letter to Ruadan. "The crowd's growing, your grace, the night's upon us and they'd be lighting torches anytime soon. We risk fires in the Lower Town. You must make his grace give an order. The knights have to step in."

 _His grace. Rion doesn't understand what is going on, you fool. It could've been Rion,_ she thought, ready to weep again. _The witch just needed to throw another dagger, and I would have lost my second son._ It made Yrien more than uneasy to detach great part of her knights and guards, but Sir Logsheath would hear of nothing else.

Perhaps her chief guard was wise. The rumours circulating around the castle, the Lower Town and the Southern Village were a parade of follies striving to outdo each other in their stupidity and wickedness. Some whispered it was Queen Yrien who killed Vidor because she had fallen in love with the young knight before the tourney and couldn't stand the sight of him marrying a younger and more beautiful Ewina. People in the village claimed the castle had been captured by warlocks and the queen and the king slain, and that it was their duty to free it off the evil force of magic. In some parts of the Lower Town people were preparing for a dragon attack. Her alliance with five thousand druid swords had not been forged yet and could fall to pieces, much to Vyda Gaheris content.

 _Logsheath's right._ Yrien opened the window, and she thought she could smell Lower Town engulfed in smoke already, although with her head throbbing, it could have easily been the scent of her fraying nerves.

"Do as you must. You have the king's blessing," she agreed. "But the Royal Tower must be guarded as a maiden's cunt."

_Even though it didn't stop Uther's ghost from killing Ryence._

Yrien was escorted to Queen Ygraine's chambers, and by the time her maidservants lit her candles in the beige room, dusk had turned into darkness of turmoil. _Mobs are still roving_ , Yrien thought. She could hear them chant Uther's name, and screaming calls for another purge. _Well, a little purge wouldn't hurt nobody_ , Yrien thought. _By this old bat will not hear of it._

She knew she had to write a letter to Vyda Gaheris and to explain everything that had just happened. To explain that the King Rion and Queen Regent had nothing to do with this malicious act of murdering a brave knight, a tourney champion in the walls of the castle of Camelot at his betrothal feast. To offer whatever cooperation it might take to track the Dark Witch and hunt her down. _She kidnapped Morgana but couldn't kill her. Morgana somehow escaped her clutches, or the druids saved her. And that's why this witch strikes again. How many more time will she try to ruin Camelot's throne?_

_Yes, yes, accuse Dark Witch and tell Vyda it was all Dark Witch's doing. And she will believe me, of course. No. She will think it's my act of revenge. When they send my firstborn son to foster in Daobeth, he escaped and got lost somewhere and likely died in the woods, my poor sweet boy, and Vyda's guards that were escorting him let the boy run away. And now her grandson is murdered under my regency in my castle. She will not consider it a coincidence. Still, a letter must be written. I will need to conduct a proper investigation, question all the guests of the feast and the king himself. Might be there will be no war. Might be druid swords will be of no use. Still, the alliance will serve if Vyda is mad enough to use the western army for revenge._

Yrien fell asleep, feeling helpless _. Ryence was right to fear this castle_. Yrien buried herself under the woolen blanket even though the summer night promised to be warm. She started laughing hysterically when she recalled her brother speak of Vidor after returning from Brechfa. _"I've just seen Vidor among the court. He takes after Uther so much he gave me chills. For a moment I thought young Uther was standing there to avenge me." Well, Ryence, Uther did avenge you in the end._

False, everything about the castle seemed false and treacherous. _Rion is just a boy. He has great need of me, the realm has great need of me. I must not let this stupid murder upset all the efforts put into tax reform. If Vyda Gaheris and this Pendragon pup join forces... then my reign is at an end. And I will not die alone. I will take this whole bloody castle to my grave._ She fell asleep with candles burning, and shouts from the Lower Town were rising to reach the Royal Tower.

***

The morning light was a low candle burning in the faraway sky where doom was looming. Yrien woke up from one of the most terrible sleeps of her night. The recollections of previous evening stormed into her head, and she was racked with helplessness. _I need to talk to Sagramore. His daughter could've died, too. It was her betrothal feast._

She crawled out of bed naked and slipped into her morning gown, afraid to look at herself in the mirror: so red were her eyes, so tousled were her hair. Yet she realized the days when she could spend half her morning tending to her looks were over. _Mobs_ , she remembered suddenly and rushed to the window.

The Lower Town outlines were still masked by thinning shadows, yet it was clear the town had suffered no fire. _What of fighting?_ She tasted some water with lemon to make her breath fresh and asked the maids to bring her guard to report on the riots.

Wiry and black haired, Sir Tawton Dindrane appeared in his green cloak and with a sword on his hilt, so broad in the shoulders and so confident in his posture it might appear he was about to ride to the battle field.

"Where's Sir Logsheath?" Yrien asked. "I asked for _my_ chief guard."

"Your grace," Sir Tawton cleared his throat and stepped close. "From this day on, I am your personal guard, according to the royal decree."

He handed her the parchment. _Rion's seal. It's genuine. What is happening? Where is Logsheath? Did something happen to him while he was dispersing mobs?_

"What is the meaning of this?" Yrien asked carefully. She was alone with Sir Tawton, and she recalled threatening him a couple of days ago. _Why does he carry a sword to the Royal Chamber?_

"Sir Logsheath has been promoted to the position of the king's Commander of the Knights, your grace, after his wise behaviour in the Lower Town last night. The king himself decreed so, and I was appointed your personal guard. To be by your side and to guard you day and night or die trying."

"Where's Rion? Where's my son?" Yrien refused to believe Rion could've done it. _Why would he put a Dindrane to guard me? Tawton is the old bat's son. It's Anna's work. It's her ploy. She shoud have died in the Purge._

"Take me to my son's chambers," Yrien commanded, looking for a cloak to cover her morning gown.

"Your son is not in his chambers, your grace," Tawton delivered the first blow with a soft voice.

"What?! Where is he?! At such an early hour?!"

"His majesty hasn't slept this night. He has been in the Lower Town, he went to talk to the crowd."

"What?! WHO LET THIS HAPPEN?!"

"Who can command the king, your grace? He asked for nobody's permission. His presence has helped to avoid the bloodshed. He is now holding his council."

The room walls started spinning in her head. _Holding his council? He is sixteen._

"And who is on the council, pray tell?"

"Your grace," the second blow was delivered even in a softer tone, though Tawton's nostrils grew wider. "As for the council. We have recorded... A certain... Flight."

"Flight? What flight? Are people running away from our city because of this silly betrothal feast?!"

"Not people, your grace. Royal Secretary Sagramore and his family. Lady Caelia and Lord Geraint. Gornemants and all the Blanchefleurs."

_All. All of them. All the noble and the brave._

"How could you let them all go?!" Yrien gasped. "How?!"

"It was the riot, your grace. Before King Rion appeared in the Lower Town, things had been running rather... harshly. We required more knights than we thought we would and the security of the castle got... weaker."

She could understand Sagramore. She even wanted to laugh when she imagined him rolling on his fat belly out of Camelot, after his daughter's groom was murdered at betrothal feast. _Sagramore, Caelia, Geraint... They matter not._ _Blanchefleurs will hold Ascetir, their claim is strong. Bloody hell, with Gedref uprising and Vyda Gaheris swords to the West, I won't stand losing Ascetir. I won't._

"Is Lady Gedref still in cells?"

"She is, your grace. Lord Ragnell of Balor has chosen to stay."

_Magnificent. Of the eleven great houses of Camelot, I have only Dindranes and Lamoraks. And Lord of Balor. Splendid. Midlands must go to war._

Tawton was hurrying after her, and it was clear the famed knight had expected a much more gracious walking from Queen Regent who seemed to be galloping into the council room. _Why would I care what he expected of me. I shall rid myself of him soon enough. The castle is full of guards and knights we've brought from Woodspeak, this is a Gingawaine stronghold no matter what Tawton and his old bat of a mother thinks. Uther's guards and knights are all in Brechfa, have been since the war with Cenred, and now they are marching to besiege the Pendragon pup._

Rion was walking around the table where his new council was scattered, with quills, inks and papers all over it. Yrien saw Lady Anna Dindrane, wizened and wrinkled and the corners of her mouth were twitching. _She would dare smile at me._ Sir Logsheath looked proud of his new seat, and if his expressions could be foretelling the future, he was promised to be the Commander of the Knights the kingdom needed. There was Gaius, too, in some new purple robes, Lord Lamorak the younger and Lord Ragnell of Balor, who had lost half his weight since his son Hengest had been slain in Arthur’s patrol.

"Mother," Rion smiled at her. He looked tired, but happy. "Welcome. I hope you've enjoyed a better sleep than me. My night was troubled by matters in the Lower Town."

"Your grace," Yrien responded with cold politeness. "I assure, I would have lost my sleep as well had I been... properly informed on the events in the Lower Town. You did a brave thing, but leaving a castle..."

"...is natural for a king," Anna Dindrane joined her wrinkled fingers in a lock. "What other way to shut down all the silly gossips? His majesty king Rion had not been seen in the Lower Town since King Ryence's death, small wonder commoners were talking utter gibberish. King Rion declared himself and addressed the crowd as befits the true ruler."

"I see that you've appointed new Council members?" Yrien walked towards the closest empty seat. _How much time have they spent here?_ "Without your Regent's leave?"

"Leave? Mother, why, we all know Regent's signature is but a formality."

 _Formality?! Who told him that?!_ Yrien cleared her throat and felt the gazes of council members pierce her from all the sides of the table.

"Well, of course," she said with a gracious smile. "Yet formality is tradition, tradition leads to law, and law is order. We must not forget it."

"And we shall not forget traditions can be broken from time to time, like when we want to cut the mourning course short," Anna reminded her with a poisonous sweetness to her tone.

_You will die, old woman. Once we deal with Vyda Gaheris, I will have you thrown in the moat. We'll see how old fish can swim._

"Will you introduce your Council members to me? Or is it another _formality_ we might skip?"

Yrien's sudden appearance in the council room was like a downpour on a cloudless sunny day. Other member felt uneasy as they remained witnesses to verbal duels between Queen Regent and her son, and Anna Dindrane.

"Very well,” Rion nodded. “You know Lady Dindrane well, mother, I assume. She finished second during the elections after Uther's death. I thought that my uncle's decision to leave such a prominent court figure out of council was questionable, so I chose to award her with the seat of the Councilor of Camelot. After all, Lady Dindrane has been in the castle since before Uther's conquest."

"Your grace is too king, but reminding an old woman of her age should be made punishable by law," Anna giggled in an awful flirting manner.

"Sir Logsheath was your guard, and he did an amazing job while leading knights into the Lower Town last night. I had the chance to personally behold his talent of the commander, so he will be our new Commander of the Knights. Sir Leon shall remain our Councilor of War until this southern pretender who claims to be Arthur is smashed. Lord Lamorak's father served as our Councilor of Provision under King Uther's reign, so I decided that he will serve as splendidly. I offered Lord of Balor the seat of our Councilor of Trade. Balor has a long border with Nemeth and Lord Ragnell is experienced when it comes to the matters of duties and bargains. We can't reach Lord Cynric, but I hope out royal Treasurer is fine and returns to us, so his seat remains vacant. As for our Secretary, I have chosen Gaius."

"Gaius?!"

"After the flight of noble houses, we are short of wise men with experience. Gaius has been in Camelot for longer than Lady Dindrane. He has seen two dragon kings and served Uther faithfully throughout his reign."

"Served as a _physician_ ," Yrien pointed.

"Not only. He has been Uther's closest ally in the defense of Camelot from magic. And magic, as we learned last night to our sorrow, is our greatest foe."

Silence fell over the room. Yrien was piercing her son, whose comeback gaze was as intense at the queen's. It seemed their looks could strike a fire. _This is not as bad as it could have been_. _With all these traitors gone, we can't have enough qualified men to rule the realm._

"And what of me?" the queen remembered suddenly. "Is there a place for me on your council?"

"You will go to rule our homeseat, mother. You're the Lady of Brechfa, don't forget. The farther from the Pass of Camlann, the safer you’ll be, and, mother, I do so care about your safety I must see you go to the castle of Brechfa, even though it pains me to part with you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's 11 chapters left now, isn't it? :) 
> 
> So with this chapter out, Yrien, Morgana, Merlin and Gwen each have just 1 chapter left :) 
> 
> For updates: 
> 
> twitter.com/diamond_abyss


	72. Seaside Kingdom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur is crowned King of Camelot in the castle of Gedref, but it's not the crown he yearns for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

Seagulls woke him in the morning. Their outcries were the most annoying sound Arthur could recall. He spent a quarter of an hour in his bed with a pillow above his head, hoping the wretched birds would fly away and disturb some other castle's sleep. Yet there was something so masterly about their persistence that by the time they had ruined his sleep Arthur came to appreciate these birds. He stepped on the balcony barefoot, for he knew the cold of stone beneath his feet would wake him better than any cold bath. The thoughts of bath and breakfast made Merlin conjure up in his mind so naturally. _Would that he could appear by my side as easily as he drifts in my thoughts._

Arthur enjoyed the view over the lovely garden of short alleys with fruit trees and the fountain in its center. There was something magical about all this greenery hidden from the curious eyes by the curtain wall, behind which mainland seemed high and strong, connected with the castle rock by the bridge that could be raised were the castle threatened. There seemed to be the more flocks of dark-grey birds in the sky the more attentively Arthur would study that faint indigo of dawn. 

_Oh, Merlin, this is such a lovely place. Look at all these fruit trees and cherry trees in the garden, and at the arbour. You'd love it, I know, don't even try to tell me you'd not. You always were such a lovesick butterfly. I mean, you conjured a butterfly when you wanted to show me your magic. Please, Merlin. This is our chance. We can spend some time here, in the gardens, on a rock where nobody would threaten us for some time. You'd be picking apples and I'd be stealing them from your basket the instant. Just come here, wherever you are._

A light knock on the door returned him from the thoughts about Merlin.

"Come in," Arthur commanded.

"You ever tried gull's eggs, your majesty?" Owaine walked in, and two servants followed: a boy and a girl, both round-faced, with auburn hair and happy faces. They were no older than thirteen.

"I told you not to call me your majesty," Arthur asked and shook Owaine's hand again.

They broke their fast together on the balcony. Servants brought two plates of gull's eggs fried with ham and pepper, and orange juice to wash it down. When they left the room, Arthur glanced at Owaine.

"Aren't they a bit too young for servants?"

"They are servants only for some time. In the castle of Gedref, we don't have... er... actual servants except for kitchen maids. Other servants are children of the noble houses."

"What? Your nobles work as servants?"

"Only until they reach the age of fifteen. It's Ashkanar's tradition. He thought it would strengthen the court, you know, if noble families exchanged their children as servants, cup bearers, food tasters and all that... Anyway, Artur, now that you regained your powers, we must talk."

"What?! Is it about Merlin?!"

"No," Owaine open his mouth and started inhaling, trying to cool his tongue burnt by red pepper. "It's about you and me. About court. Arthur, you must know that they wanted to crown me when they found out I was alive."

"That doesn't surprise me at all," Arthur smiled, and started putting out pepper fire in his own mouth with orange juice. "Your grandpa was King of Seaside Kingdom. My uncle Tristan killed him. Or Agravaine. Or they both did. Your father died in Camelot under mysterious circumstances. Your mother has been wronged by King Ryence for not destroying the magic labyrinth. Not to mention that you are a Gedref, and Gedref must be ruled by Gedref, they say."

"Where did you learn that?"

"My ship's captain told me. Owaine, what sorcery have you worked on them to... make them recognize me?"

"There was no sorcery. Just honor," Owaine eyes were agleam with devotion. "I told them all, told them about our friends Hengest and Aglovale and Ewaine die in the forest. Told them how you are the only king capable to lead the realm through this turmoil. You are loved by your knights and have a right family name and can keep us all from terrible bloodshed."

_Oh can I?_

"I don't think Yrien would agree with us," Arthur noticed bitterly.

"She may not be as solid as she seems from here. We've had news about druids declaring Andor their land again," Owaine said with a smile.

"And why would you deny me such good news?" Arthur wanted to throw an orange at him.

"I wanted to save the best bits. If druids prove trouble for her, she may lack forces to deal with us."

"She may have a host at our gates any day now."

"Modron may bring five hundred people from Nemeton any day, too. But that's not the point. Arthur, you must promise them all the things we've discussed. Remember, the night we met Lamia, you asked Modron and me what we'd advise you to change."

"Taxes and duties," Arthur repeated. "I remember. But that's not an easy matter, you know it. Duties and import taxes are high in Portstown and all over Gedref for a reason.

“A foolish reason,” Owaine said dismissively.

“If peace is foolish. I was five years old. Father was planning to go to war with Caerleon of Gwynedd. It’s so far in the north, and he feared to leave Camelot’s southern territories unprotected. Kingdom of Nemeth was suffering a dreadful war against Essetir at that time, but everybody was sure that it would eventually end with Nemeth’s victory. Fathered offered Rodor to end the war quicker in exchange for a twenty-year peace treaty that would make Camelot’s south secure while father and his warlords would be fighting in Gwynedd. The treaty had this condition, that Portstown duties must be higher than in Nemeth.”

“Piss on Nemeth. Their King just tried to sell you to Odin. Arthur, we take the whole story differently. After your mother’s death, after Tristan’s death, after Agravaine’s flight, your father was just fearing that Gedref could one day rebel against the crown and try and go back to the ways of Seaside Kingdom, once our Treasury accumulated enough wealth. So, he introduced these silly import duties for Potrstown, he arranged your betrothal to princess Elena of Gawant, so that Gedref would not have an ally from across the Merchant’s Bay, and…”

“Is Gawant that close?”

“It’s across the bay. Inkwave is less than a day of sailing.”

“Fine. So you mean to tell me my father was suppressing Gedref’s trade intentionally. Maybe it is true, but, Owaine, I assure you, I will not repeat his mistake. Moreover, I think he recognized his mistake, too, for why else would he sign this Treaty of Five Kings earlier this year? Our Councilor of Trade lost all his sleep because of the lot of work he had to put in it.”  

"By the way," Owaine remembered. "This Councilor of Trade. Cynric, is it? He's been demanding to see you ever since the news of your arrival spread."

 ***

In the garden, the thick walls were shutting out the clamor of the castle which was preparing for his modest coronation, even the birds seemed to be happy, singing to the sweet murmur of crickets and gentle wind’s rustle. Lord Cynric stood by the peach tree, cloaked in purple, with visibly uneven shoulders (the left somewhat taller), a teenage goatee on his face and the short dark hair.

“My lord. Forgive if my expression startles you,” he said, so hurrying to bend the knee he nearly lost his balance. “It is truly a miracle, and miracles are hard to get used to. By the grace of goddess, you are alive.”

“Lord Cynric,” Arthur suddenly realized he wouldn’t have remembered the man’s face had they not met again. “I didn’t quite expect to see you here.”

“I couldn’t stay in Camelot when the news of your rebellion broke! The moment I read the letter, I realized I had but one king to serve, and fled the castle to behold you with my own eyes. It is truly you! What a joy it is, your grace! And what a tragedy to know your father died thinking he’d lost you.”

“There’s nobody to answer for this tragedy now,” Arthur knew it was wrong, but he wished it was him who’d serve the justice. “Ryence is dead.”

“Dead. Or killed.”

“Do you know what?...”

“I’m afraid I don’t, my lord,” Cynric pursed his lips and encouraged Arthur to walk with him. “I… Lady Yrien was not very explicit about the cause of her brother’s death in the letter she sent me.”

“You have reasons to believe she could have played a part in this?”

“I can’t know what could have gone amiss in the head of murderers, traitors, oath-breakers and cowards who murdered your father and attempted to murder you.”

_At least he doesn’t flinch from the truth. The Gingawaines are murderers, traitors, oath-breakers and cowards. Ryence should have challenged my father for a single combat._

“Fair enough. But you hold much information about the short reign of Lord Ryence Gingawaine?”

“I do, my lord. And I want to share it with you. I have served your father and I mean to serve you now.”

_What an irony. At my father’s council, they all called Cynric hungry for gold, yet he is the only lord who arrived to serve me once the news of rebellion broke._

“You are welcome to join my council, lord Cynric,” Arthur smiled. “Your loyalty is appreciated. I do hope you will attend my modest ceremony in the throne room.”

“Of course, your grace.”

The gulls were still crying.

***

"All hail Arthur of House Pendragon, the rightful king of Camelot!" the castellan trumpeted when Arthur entered the hall.

 _The rightful king. What a spiteful remark._ Arthur's eyebrows rose disapprovingly, but he knew that castellan bore no ill will. After all, with druid rebels in the north, Rion being king and his mother - regent, and Arthur in the castle of Gedref, some clarity had to be voiced about who had the _rights_ to wear the crown.

The court of Gedref was gathered in the Seashell hall, where walls were fashioned as rocks and the throne was styled as a pearl shell. _Thank Goddess they don't have a crown made of seaweed_ , Arthur thought. They had managed to find a red cloak of Camelot knight where maids were quick to sew the sigil of his house: the fat golden dragon with long tail.

The Seashell hall itself was a sea of lavish jewels and outlandishly bright fabrics where lords and ladies of Gederf stood beneath the high windows. Lord Sei of Portstown and his family were in the front row, and Lord Rysor of Breninwall was there, too. He had arrived ahead of his host of eighty soldiers. Arthur noticed Lord Cynric stand in the end of the hall.

Southern fashion seemed extravagant to Arthur; some people were wearing feathers, while others had suits of motley, green and gold shimmering gowns. Knights, seatless lords, ladies, rich merchants, freefolk and honored guests had arrived from Portstown to see Arthur presented to the court. Arthur had not chosen to outdo the guests; on the contrary, he preferred a plain tunic of blue samite and his red cloak with golden dragon on it.

He was greeted with a fanfare of brazen trumpets as though he had been a hero or a savior of the city and the castle. When he climbed the throne and looked at the crowd in the Seashell hall, all he could think of was that the dearest face was missing.

"We have gathered today to witness the second miracle in a single week," the castellan, a handsome man gone a bit too fat proclaimed. "When we found out that Sir Owaine, son of Lord Ollwen, was alive and well, we couldn't be happier. With his return, the Gedref line continues. Yet now we stand in the presence of an even greater comeback, for Arthur of House Pendragon has survived the same wicked assassins that tried to kill our dear Sir Owaine."

_Our dear Sir Owaine. They love him, they truly do. Well, why wouldn't they? He's a handsome and gallant lad._

“As the bannermen of Lord Gedref, it is our solemn duty and responsibility to recognize the liege of our lord. Lord Owaine made his intentions clear: the territory of Gedref will never bend the knee for the Gingawaines, who tried to kill Arthur, Owaine, and four other knights-to-be. It is only Arthur of House Pendragon who must be proclaimed our king!”

The crowd cheered at him a bit too lustily, and Arthur noticed Mithian’s oddly proud face in the crowd. _She remembers the King of Camelot swim in drainage pisswater when fleeing Lydon_ , Arthur thought with a smile.  

“My lords and ladies, my free men, all the good men, women, and children,” Arthur said, feeling his voice go weak at the moment when he needed it as hoarse and strong as possible. He couldn’t believe that it had finally come to this, couldn’t believe he was standing by the throne the way his father would stand, ready to accept the sacred power of ruling the realm. “I have come to you as king by rights, but I want to be your king by love, by respect and by deeds. People of Gedref, I know that many of you have reasons to think that the crown of Camelot has been unkind to the territory of Gedref in some ways. I promise to you that when my reign begins, prosperity of Gedref and wealth of its people will be my duty, as important as other tasks of a king. Portstown will become the trading port with fair import taxes and duties, and ships will be lining up in Merchant’s Bay to unload their goods night and day. I will cut taxes you must deliver to the crown and encourage more power and more responsibility from the Gedref Treasury Court. Together with you, I shall see Gedref become a better place for our children, grandchildren, and the generations to come. I thank you for the high trust you put in me!”

The lords and ladies in the hall began to shout their approval. Arthur kneeled before the throne, and it was the librarian who spoke the words:

“Will you solemnly promise and swear to govern the Peoples of Camelot according to their respective laws and customs? Will you to your power cause Law and Justice, in Mercy, to be executed in all your judgments?”

“I solemnly swear so to do,” Arthur answered the words he had learnt by heart, and smiled, remembering Merlin crown him in the ridge of Ascetir with magic.

“Then by the sacred power vested in me, I crown you, Arthur of House Pendragon, King of Camelot and all her territories.”

The crown put on his head was a simple gold band ornamented with seven shining gemstones of different colors: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, indigo and violet. A tumult of cheering filled the Seashell hall, and before long the cries “LONG LIVE THE KING!” erupted all over Arthur.

***

 King Arthur Pendragon was expected to spend his first kingship day feasting, but he devoted it to training. It had been so long since he felt the hilt of the sword fill his hand that he was terribly missing the sword weight dancing with the balance of his arms and body. Owaine seemed much less enthusiastic about it; the splendid life in the castle of Gedref hadn’t required training and he wasn’t so keen to suffer hits and bruises from Arthur.

“Then how are you going to fight when Yrien’s host arrives?” Arthur asked, slamming Owaine’s shield with his.

By the end of the training session, Owaine could hardly move his feet as he went to the armory. Arthur took his armor off himself, and required a cold bath. After that, he put on his red Camelot cloak and his new golden band of a crown with seven shining gemstones. The king then descended the staircase and crossed the courtyard to climb the highest drum tower.

He stood there alone, in silence, looking at the endless sheet of dark-blue sea that seemed to last until the end of beyond, and the clouds were red with sunset. Arthur knew he’d come, knew he’d not fail his promise. The whole castle wasn’t worth a thing without him, and he’d abandon the throne for good if it meant seeing Merlin’s face again. Come night, and ruby torches of Portstown were mirrored in the sea, but Arthur refused to leave, holding the moonstone in his right hand. His eyes searched the dark sky for Merlin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 10 chapters left :)  
> for updates:
> 
> twitter.com/diamond_abyss


	73. The Siege

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Yrien's host approaches Portstown and the castle of Gedref

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Arthur POV

Arthur had just received news about Yrien's host approaching Portstown: the swords could be hours away, according to a horseman from the road watch. Lord Rysor's men from Breninwall had arrived late the previous evening, and were now safe behind the walls of Portstown, adding another eighty men to two hundred city soldiers.

Arthur had fallen asleep late after spending half his night on the drum tower, hoping to see Merlin somewhere among the stars. When he stopped trying to deceive himself and accepted that Merlin would not just fall into his arms out of the black summer night, Arthur surrendered to sleep. However, he had scarcely been in dream for a couple of hours when the horseman from the road watch delivered the news to the bridge. Arthur summoned what appeared to be his first council, although there was little time to think of who'd serve as who, and Arthur couldn't care less. _Yrien's army is coming. This is not about bloody seats._

Everybody was as sleepy and shaggy as Arthur, except for Lord Rysor, whose baldness was shimmering in candle light like a gull's egg. Owaine was nervously breaking quills, Lord Sei of Portstown was a thin stooped figure who'd not be able to actually sit down, for it was _his_ town threatened by Yrien, and the excitement kept him on his feet. Arthur had also invited Princess Mithian, who looked most comely of them all, covering her sleeping gown with a thin blue cloak, and called for castellan of Gedref, Lord Stoneworth and the librarian, Henry.

“Three hundred men,” Lord Sei repeated for what appeared to be a dozenth time. “What can she hope to achieve by bringing three hundred men to my walls? I can give them an open battle, I myself have two hundred and eighty…”

“The ones she brings are _seasoned_ ,” Arthur’s normally calm attitude turned irritated and impatient that morning. “They had been gathered in Howden, trained for two weeks and seen some fighting in Brechfa. Feigned, but still fighting. Our soldiers have scarcely been training for a week. An open battle is too risky.”

Lord Rysor pretended to be deaf to Arthur’s warnings:

“It can weaken her host greatly, your grace.”

“At the expense of my own men dying,” Arthur added. “I will _not_ see them bleed for me so purposelessly.”

“Purposelessly? If we cut half her host…”

“We will lose half our own soldiers. In the meantime, another Yrien host is likely to arrive from the castle of Chemary, and Portstown will have no soldiers to defend its walls after the messy open battle. No. Open battle is folly, at least for now,” Arthur was pointing at the map so enthusiastically his fingers were threatening to tear it apart. “Doomspath and Burnwood didn’t have enough time to gather and send their soldiers, and now they are cut from us. Two hundred and eighty men in Portstown is all we have.”

“Unless Modron brings his father’s bannermen from Nemeton,” Owaine breathed out a faint hope.

“Indeed,” the king nodded. “Yet how far mus…”

“Forgive me my lords, but who is this Modron I keep hearing about?” Mithian, the ever gracious princess with the ever thoughtful look, asked.

“The heir of Nemeton.”

“Of Nemeton? That’s interesting. I used to hunt in the forests of Nemeton when I was a child.”

“That is very good to hear, princess,” Lord Sei rose after an unsuccessful attempt to keep himself seated for at least a couple of minutes. “But the events unfolding before our eyes are more interesting!”

“Of course! Forgive me, Lord Sei. As for these events… Well, I have already written to my father, urging him to support Arthur’s cause. I can pen another letter, to whoever commands Yrien’s host.”

“What purpose will it serve?” Lord Cynric, who had been stroking his chin for most of the meeting, broke silence for the first time.

“They will hesitate to storm Portstown if they know princess of Nemeth is behind its walls,” Mithian assumed a bit too eagerly.  

“That… is true. But we might use it differently,” Cynric cleared his throat and his eyes gleamed with the beauty of the new scheme. “Princess Mithian, do write this letter to whoever commands Yrien’s host, and tell them that you are our noble guest. Write to them that attacking Portstown now will mean an act of war on Nemeth. That will make them think twice.”

_Is it bad that we’ll be spreading lies in order to achieve peace?_

“You can’t believe Yrien means to actually _storm_ the gates!” Lord Sei’s exclamation screamed for justification. “How will she do it? With three hundred men?”

“There must be a reason,” anger was brewing within Arthur’s mind. “This Yrien host can neither storm the walls nor lay a proper siege. Why would she bloody bring it, then?!”

“As your grace has rightly observed, Doomspath and Burnwood are now cut from Portstown and the castle of Gedref. Even if they wanted to join you, they’d have to fight their way through Yrien’s host. The purpose of this army she sends, thus, is to prevent more forces from joining you in Portstown,” Cynric explanation was the most convincing one. “Yrien doesn’t underestimate Portstown, she knows it has thick walls and is immune to siege. She doesn’t want more Gedref soldiers to get behind the walls before another host comes, a host big enough to storm Portstown.”

 _One. Two. Three_. Arthur was counting his inhales. _Could it be true? Does Yrien intend to tear the walls down? Will my reign be over before it even began?_

“Where will she get that many men? She’ll need no less than fifteen hundred soldiers to storm the town,” Lord Sei was peering at the window, as though Lord of Portstown was afraid to spot an army of fifteen hundred men in the sea.  

“Vyda Gaheris.”

Something hit Arthur on a spine. _Is it possible?_  

“Father’s aunt,” the king mumbled. “Why… would she? _Would_ she?”

“Your grace forgets that Gingawaines remain recognized as rulers in most of Camelot territories,” truth was parading through Cynric’s voice, the ugly and proud truth. “Balor, Ascetir, Brechfa, the castle of Camelot, Daobeth, Denaria, Asgorath and Landshire have all sworn fealty to King Rion. Your father ordered…”

“Two thousand swords to be raised in the west after he got news of Cenred’s invasion,” Arthur remembered, to his sorrow.  

“Correctly,” Cynric nodded. “Now… Well, Brechfa is problematic. Lord Gingawaine brought a lot of soldiers to Camelot upon your father’s first call. Then many more arrived to replace your father’s guards and knights in the castle. It would seem the castle of Chemary is the closest and the largest resource of armed men of house Gingawaine now. They can gather three hundred men in due time, but that still would not do if Yrien intended to storm the walls. Raising more men in Brechfa would affect the household. Villages will be short of workers. Whole industries may suffer in towns. That’s too costly, so why not ask your father’s aunt for help and make her send two thousand swords to shut your rebellion once and for all? That is how she must think, your grace.”

“If everything is as Lord Cynric says… If it is true about two thousand swords from the west… If they join forces with Yrien’s hosts, your grace, we’ll have twenty-seven hundred men storming Portstown and only two hundred and eighty men defending the walls. The city will fall.”

“Not unless we make the war seem too costly for the westerners,” Arthur noticed something dangerous shine in Lord Cynric’s eyes. _Is he as simple as he looks and sounds_? “We shall draw powerful allies to our side. Preferably neighbors.”

“We border on Deorham on the eastern side of the Merchant’s Bay. King Alined is hardly powerful. And on Gawant on the western side of the bay.”

“Gawant. Forgive me, your grace, but aren’t you… formally betrothed to Princess Elena of Gawant?”

“I think I am still believed to be dead in Gawant.”

“If it is announced that you are not, King Godwin might…”

“That would not serve. I can’t marry princess Elena.”

“Your grace, you are at war where you risk to be outnumbered ten to one. A marriage with Princess Elena can be of crucial importance.”

“I shall _not_ marry princess Elena. I shall repeat it no more.”

_Because I love Merlin even if he is not here, I mean it, I love him with whatever is left of my heart and I will never betray this only thing that seems real to me. I rather lose this war loving Merlin than win it marrying some princess I haven’t even properly met._

“Doesn’t mean an alliance can’t be formed,” Lord Cynric tried to sound most assuring.  

“How?”

“Why don’t we use the same trick? We have Princess of Nemeth who can write a letter to King Godwin. Let her say Nemeth supports Arthur and she has arrived as an envoy of Nemeth crown. Let her urge King Godwin to support King Arthur as well. Ask him to send letters to Asgorath and the castle of Wheelskirt. Asgorath is the richest territory in the western Camelot. If they find out their biggest trade partner is supporting Arthur, they may reconsider following Yrien’s orders and switch to your side.”

_Another lie to be spread in order to achieve peace. Why do I feel bad about it?_

“Will you deliver the letter to King Godwin, Lord Cynric?” Lord Rysor inquired.

“I shall do as his grace commands. I have known King Godwin during the years I served as Councilor of Trade.”

“Then you’re to sail with me to Portstown now,” Arthur said, rising to his feet. “You will board the galley that will take you to Inkwave, and I will inspect Portstown’s walls.”

_And try to find Merlin there._

 

***

 

The small ship sailed from Dragon's Jaws together with first light. The sky was dressed in a cloak of rainclouds, grey to the east and inky to the west. The rowers from the cavern town made sure King Arthur Pendragon would spend no more than two hours sailing to Portstown. Arthur saw pigeons high in the sky, flying from the castle.

He was accompanied by Owaine, Lord Sei and Lord Cynric. Before departing, Arthur had ordered the bridge to be raised, cutting the castle of Gedref off mainland and off all the foes who meant to seize it. At the same time, it meant less and less chances for Merlin to get to Gedref. _Once Yrien host comes, it will be an enemy infested land, save for Portstown, the castle of Gedref and Breninwall. Merlin, you knew it all, didn't you? You had some plan._

"What of your mother, Owaine?" Arthur asked Lord of Gedref as they watched the outlines of Portstown grow clearer and bigger as the ship was flying west.

"Lord Cynric told me she was not imprisoned when he left Camelot. Told me she was confined to her chambers," Owaine tried to exercise the calmest tone, but Arthur had no doubts he wanted to lynch Yrien.

Arthur put his hand on Owaine’s shoulder.

"We will get her back, I promise. Ryence, too, thought he'd seen the last of me, he, too, seemed victorious. Yrien's downfall may be upon her sooner than she expects," Arthur hoped his words had magic power to make things true. "She will face trial and punishment, if found guilty."

"If?"

"Well, I can believe she’s not entirely to blame. I can believe she was acting on her brother's accords. But now that Ryence is dead, what is she supposed to do? To hand the crown back to me? That would cast a shadow over her future, and the future of her son."

"Rion seemed a good lad," Owaine remembered. "A bit... on his own, refused to go to the Summer Feast with us."

"I fought wooden swords with him once," Arthur smiled.

"Let's hope you'll not fight real ones."

Arthur could not understand how the news of his arrival could have reached Portstown before him, but in the harbor, people were gathering to behold their new king and Lord Gedref together for the first time. His arrival at such an early hour turned the streets raucous and noisy well before the schedule, and when Arthur got out of the ship and walked the long quay, he was afraid of his new crown for the first time. People seemed all around, fighting for the better spot to glimpse at their young king in black ringmail and red cloak, with a gold band of a crown ornamented with seven shining gems.

Arthur was studying their faces, each face, so childishly hopeful Merlin would stage a surprise and meet him in the harbor of Portstown. When he realized that Merlin was not among the crowd, Arthur sighed heavily and started talking to his people.

He told them that an enemy host was moving towards Portstown, that the same people who had attempted to murder Sir Owaine Gedref in the forest of Brechfa last month are coming to finish their scheme, but urged people not to worry.

"Leave worries to the warriors!" he shouted, repeating the words he had so often heard from his father. "Our walls are thick, our archer's nests are plenty, and Lord Rysor brought another eighty men to strengthen our defenses! We have enough soldiers to defend the walls if our foes are stupid enough to try and storm us, and our granaries are full! Lead your lives, people of Gedref, and I shall protect you as I've sworn I would!"

After the cheers in the crowd had faded, Arthur was introduced to Lord Sei's nephew, a ginger-bearded young man who'd shave his head bald intentionally. His name was Darmund, and he was in charge of the city's defenses.

"It's an honor, your grace," he said, kneeling before Arthur.

"Arise, sir," Arthur put a hand on Darmund's shoulder. _He's twice as big as me, bloody hell, he's a giant._ "And let us begin."

The castle of Gedref was seen from every teeming street in Portstown, a magic creature nesting on a rock in the eastern sky, shining white despite the brooding sky. Arthur knew he had a long day ahead of him: there was a meeting with blacksmiths, who demanded their wages to be raised due to working so much in the wake of recent events; merchants were expecting Arthur, too, hurrying to have a royal decree that would state that import duties and taxes in Gedref can be lowered; soldiers were awaiting him no less eagerly. However, Arthur first chose to visit the archer’s nests, for they were of strategic importance. _If Yrien’s army tries to storm the gates, we shall rain arrows on them._

 

***

 

Queen Regent and King Rion’s army appeared by midday. _Footmen, only footmen_ , Arthur thought as he stood on the wall, his heart beating in an ecstasy. _No cavalry. No spearmen._ It was a sea of yellow cloaks, marching in carefully maintained legions, each composed of sixty-four men. Arthur counted seven legions, and saw knights compose the first row in every formation. _Fifty-six knights. Four hundred and forty-eight men altogether._ _And Goddess only knows how many more squires, cooks, servants and blacksmiths dragging behind._

With cavalry or without, it was an impressive host anyway, and Arthur saw Owaine swallow nervously as they were watching the enemy march closer. The gates had been shut for hours, and bowmen were in the nests, ready to fire at the intruders if the command were given.

“What’s to happen now?” Owaine asked, his weak voice betraying a lad of eighteen years.

“Under ordinary circumstances, the town would be cut off supplies. Markets would be empty of farmers selling food, but full of people trying to sell their household goods for any coin. Starvation would ensue, and whatever food left would be priced five times as costly as during peace. People would start fighting for food soon, the streets would reek of danger, and once all the rats were eaten, there would appear a group of people willing to open the gates to the enemy in exchange for food and their life,” Arthur said indifferently. “However, we are not under ordinary circumstances. Portstown can’t be cut off supplies, for we have a harbor, and Yrien has no fleet. Hence the ordinary life can go on in town for everybody save soldiers and guards. We must watch the wall day and night while we wait for Modron to bring his father’s army from Nemeton.”

“You’re sure it will happen?”

“I am most certain,” Arthur lied. Without Merlin, he wasn’t certain of anything. “Oh, Owaine, look at them. They have no trebuchets, no siege towers, no ladders. They don’t mean to _storm_ the walls. I’m sure, tomorrow they will demand hostages swap and negotiations. Fire the arrow of honor!”

Darmund Sei obeyed the order a bit too eagerly. The flaming arrow was shot, rising high in the sky before it thudded into the ground some hundreds of feet away from the wall.

“What’s that?” Owaine asked.

“A warning. If they approach closer than this arrow, we’ll open fire.”

King Arthur chose to spend the first night of the siege in Portstown, so that the town folk would see that there was no immediate danger posed by Yrien’s army and city walls were safe enough for the king’s sleep.

However, sleep was an overstatement. Lights were put out early in Lord Sei’s towerhouse, for Darmund himself had volunteered to participate in the hostage exchange on the morrow and wanted to make sure he’d be at full strength.

Arthur couldn’t keep his eyes closed for longer than a couple of minutes, and his breath was growing unsteady whenever he imagined Merlin crossing the fields patrolled by Yrien’s host. There were nearly six hundred men separating Portstown and the castle of Gedref from the rest of the kingdom, and Merlin, with all his magic, seemed such a tender creature Arthur didn’t want to imagine him fighting through the mass of yellow Gingawaine cloaks.

_If I knew where you are, I’d lead any host I have to be with you. But how am I supposed to know? Merlin, I swear, once you get to Gedref I shall lock you in my arms and not let you be farther than a step away from me._

He had to do something, there had to be a way, a spell, a word, a whisper, something that would make Merlin come, Arthur was sure. But what? His decision came as though by itself, but despite all the suddenness, Arthur knew it was a fruit that had long been ripening in his heart.

 

***

 

On the morrow, Arthur was woken by the polite knock on the door. He had fallen asleep, after all, and sprang to his feet, his black ringmail clangor filling the room.

“Are we under attack?” Arthur gasped.

“No, no, your grace,” Darmund looked as though he had been on his feet for some time. “Your grace, there are matters awaiting your governance. Yrien’s army has a horseman carrying peace banner. He insists on negotiations and hostage swap.”

“What is his name?”

“Sir Leon,” Darmund responded. “Former Commander of the Knights.”

Arthur grinned. _Half the knights in the field are the ones I trained with. Some of them may be the ones I trained. Leon. He was so loyal. Might be he’ll still be, once he knows I am who I am, and not some wraith. He’s too… mature to believe in such nonsense._

“Good. We shall begin negotiations shortly. However, there’s one matter to be settled before we ride to Sir Leon. Summon your uncle to the council room.”

“Will your grace break his fast?”

“Bread will suffice,” Arthur responded, happy to see the new morning was smiling with sunshine.

In the small council room of Lord Sei’s towerhouse they could hear each other’s breathing.

“Your grace,” Lord Sei rose as Arthur entered the room, accompanied by Sir Darmund.

“Good morning, my lords,” Arthur nodded at Lord Sei and his secretary. “Where’s Owaine?”

“In the harbor, your grace. Merchants were demanding to see him. They are drafting the new decree on duties and import taxes, and Owaine hopes to win their agreement to freeze food prices for the time the siege lasts.”

“Does he understand anything about duties and taxes?” Arthur frowned.

“Young Lord Gedref is eighteen. He went to Camelot to train for his knighthood after completing his course of studies. Of course he’s far from wisdom, your grace, as far as anybody aged eighteen, but he is smart, learns fast, and has no lack of good counsel. Besides, I shall help him inspect the draft of new duties decree as soon as your grace bids me leave.”

“Then we shall not hesitate,” Arthur’s voice was as iron as his will. “Lord Sei, I want to issue my first decree.”

“A decree? Of course, your grace. What shall it be?”

“Will you please write it?” Arthur nodded at the secretary. “I, Arthur of House Pendragon, King of Camelot and all her territories hereby declare that I lift the ban on magic established by late King Uther. Practicing magic is no longer punishable by death, and I welcome all the witches, warlocks and druids to join the realm where I shall govern them according to our laws and customs, exercising justice and mercy in my judgements. All the witches and warlocks who wish to help us defend our walls from the Gingawaine’s army are welcome to seek my personal audience in the castle of Gedref, where I solemnly swear to offer them safe conduct.”

Secretary’s quill was not traveling the parchment back and forth: the man was staring at Lord Sei with his mouth wide open.

“Forgive me, your grace, but lift the ban?!” Lord Sei gasped, fear and disbelief equaling in his look.

The nephew of Lord of Portstown didn’t share his uncle’s concerns. His face became a grimace, and after some moments of brooding silence he uttered:

“Why?”

_Because of Merlin. Because I know that’s what he’d want, and moreover, that’s what is right._

“When I kneeled beside the throne and had this crown put on my had, I swore a holy oath,” Arthur meant to attack with his voice, if need be, but for now, it remained a shield of confidence. “I swore to govern the People of Camelot according to their respective laws and customs. There are some peoples in Camelot, and I can’t disregard their existence in my kingdom.”

“But your father!” Lord Sei looked as though he had taken leave of his senses. “Your father! He…”

“…made a great deal of mistakes, Lord Seit,” Arthur pressed the attack. “I am not my father. I will not sign my name under some horrible things he did, and I mean to reject the horrible things I have done, and to be forgiven for my own crimes, if possible. Father wronged warlocks and witches. Father wronged Portstown. You all wanted me to change the crown’s attitude towards Gedref, yet can’t understand the change of other attitudes as well?”

“There were witches, griffins, priestesses and dragons attacking the castle of Camelot!” Lord Sei’s helpless gazing was now directed at everybody in the room, and it appeared the Lord of Portstown would have been glad to beat the sense into the king himself. “They all attacked Camelot! And your father!”

“Would you not seek revenge for the Great Purge if you were one of their kind? Lord Sei, forgive me, but let it be heard loud and clear. This is a royal decree. I want it signed, and I want it to be read loud and clear at the markets and squares. If anybody wants to oppose this decree, I am always open to single combat. It’s been too long since I fought.”

Lord Sei swallowed whatever remnants of calculations and reasons he’d just meant to voice, and turned as red as a crab thrown onto the shore. _Good_. The silence in the room remained heavy as everybody was watching the secretary’s quill travel the parchment, his hand shaking as an autumn leaf. _Changes are never easy, but they seldom come otherwise. Merlin, this is for the realm and for you. Please, hear me, hear people talk about a sad king who accepts magic and is looking for one particular sorcerer. Without this sorcerer, everything seems not worth trying for the king._

Owaine’s kick on the door seemed a little like misbehavior when he appeared, smiling and chewing a green apple freshly offloaded in port.

“Where the bloody hell have you been?” Arthur exclaimed. _I’m making history here_. “I had great need of you!”

“Forgive me, my lord,” Owaine bent down which made Arthur raise his eyebrow. _Is he drunk_? “My journey to Lord Sei’s towerhouse has been delayed… by a filthy unshaved Nemetian.”

“What??” Arthur frowned, before he saw someone walk from behind Owaine’s back.

For a moment Arthur’s hands got weak, for all he could see was a pale and dark-haired boy entering the room. His desire to see Merlin come back to him was so strong he could see Merlin in every shadow and every bypasser, but this boy did have a lot in common with Merlin… Yet it was Modron, not Merlin. It appeared summer hadn’t spent a single day on his pale skin, yet it was Modron anyway, heir to Nemeton and the man that could put an end to Yrien’s farce of a siege.

That stopped Arthur and made him forget the most important decree of his reign was being written at the moment. _How has Modron got to Portstown? The gates are blocked by… Oh. He must have come by the sea._

“Modron!” Arthur shouted and rushed to whirl the lad in the air. “Modron, you sly hunting hound, you’ve made it, made it, made it!”

“I knew he would,” Owaine’s smile could dim the sunlight. “He’s a tough character.”

“Lord Sei,” Arthur turned back to the members of his morning council. “Allow me to introduce Sir Modron of House Pellionore, son of Bors Pellionore, heir to the lordship of Nemeton.”

“Sir?! How old are you?” Darmund eyed him suspiciously. “How happens you’re a knight already?”

“He has been knighted for his deeds in the forests of Brechfa, when he saved mine and Arthur’s lives,” Owaine explained.   

“King Arthur’s,” Lord Sei reminded. “Heir of Nemeton, you say? Goddess be good, Portstown and the castle of Gedref have more heirs than I can count. Princess of Nemeth, heir of Nemeton, and if Lord Cynric is lucky in Inkwave, Princess Elena… Is it a war or a bloody marriage pact market, I ask you? How many soldiers have you brought to strengthen my walls?”

Modron’s eyes were angry and… _He’s ashamed. Bloody hell, it didn’t work._

“My father has decided to stay out of Arthur’s… quest of his rightful throne.”

“And you disobeyed your father?” Darmund’s jaw dropped.

“I… I did what I thought was right. I told my father such behavior was not worthy of the Lord of Nemeton. I urged him to tell the truth to his court. Lords of Nemeton have never tried to present cowardice for politics. He called us green boys who don’t understand the woes we might inflict upon the realm, and I… I…”

“And you ran away, you sly hunting Nemetian boy,” Darmund laughed. “You’re bloody smart! Now your mother will skin your father if he doesn’t raise banners. She will not stand losing your for the second time. Well played!”

“This wasn’t a game,” Modron cheeks were cherry-red. “I meant every word I said!”

_Game or not, with meaning or without, this is the end. Nothing, nothing is ahead of us now. Modron failed, I know he meant not to, and I will choose Modron over all his father’s bannermen any time, for Modron’s loyal, but I… I am now locked in Portstown, I have no more than three hundred men to protect my walls, and Yrien has blocked me, waiting for my auntie Vyda to bring twenty hundred men and tear these walls apart. If Merlin comes, he will see me as a king of a broken piece of land. Merlin, I’m so sorry. I fear we’ll not be able to enjoy the castle and its fruit garden._

“Owaine, Modron,” Arthur called them. “You will accompany me and Sir Darmund to the talks with Sir Leon. Now.”

 _Modron brought no men,_ was all Arthur kept thinking _. Our hopes for five hundred Nemeton swords have died. We have two-hundred and eighty soldiers to protect the walls, while Yrien may have seven hundred by evenfall, and auntie Vyda may send another two-thousand. How far is doom? Where is Merlin?!_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next updates will be the last chapters for Morgana (Freedom), Yrien (Daughter-in-Law) and Merlin (The Last Dragonlord). After that, we shall be back to Portstown and the castle of Gedref for the reunion of king and his warlock! <3
> 
> For updates, please check: 
> 
> twitter.com/diamond_abyss


	74. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Morgana tries to deal with grief after Alvarr's death.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Morgana POV

She spent the day in the crypts, crying.

After her shrieks brought guards into the room, the Grey Keep was searched once again, and it seemed the whole castle of Idirsholas suffered the greatest inspection since the days when gold-diggers would come and look for the treasures of the dragon king Ashkanar who had abandoned his family seat for good.

They found the door in the wall which Merlin must have used to escape - it led, through a narrow corridor, to a hall where faded tapestries reflected the light of druid torches. There were two doors which led out of the hall: one led downstairs to the dragon's grave, and another had a corridor which ended soon with an iron gate. Behind those iron gates was a square chamber with four doors, each barred with iron as well. The tunnels behind those four doors served as spy tunnels that intersected the whole Grey Keep.

_He has been hiding behind these walls all the time. He has been listening. This was not by accident. He planned, planned, planned the whole thing._

There was water dripping from the wet walls of the crypt caves, and Alvarr was wrapped in cloak beside her. She dared not look at his face which turned into the otherworldly mask of death, where neither sympathy nor love he bared her could be found. The wetness of the cave added some more strength to the faint whisper of decay Morgana could smell hours after bringing Alvarr's body into the crypts.

The druids tried to stop her, all of them, they kept telling her that Alvarr was a great warrior who deserved to be given to the dragon flames and burned on the shores of the Lake of Avalon. However, it took a single look of Morgana to make them dart off in silence. _He had friends, companions, but I must stay with him for some time. Only me. I must mourn him alone._

But how could she mourn Alvarr when she knew that his murderer was somewhere out there, enjoying free breath, while Alvarr was wrapped in cloak and lying in the Grey Keep? Her anger was gathering faster than the shadows in the crypt, and the thoughts of Merlin seemed to drive her magic skills to the limits she had been previously scared to explore.

She hated Merlin for it: she hated that stupid wretched servant who didn't allow her to be alone with the dead body of Alvarr. She couldn't be alone with Alvarr, for Merlin was in her thoughts, and nothing could drive him away, not even the sickly-sweet smell of Alvarr's decaying body.

She was wondering where Merlin was hiding. _We shouldn't have underestimated him._ _He tried to kill me with poison during the attack of Medihr knights, because he thought I had played some part in the attack and had meant to harm Arthur. Now that Arthur's dead, it's Merlin revenge. He killed the only person who cared about me._

 _Doesn't matter where he's hiding_ , Morgana thought. _He might as well take a ship and sail across the Sea of Mora. I will find him, find him no matter what. And when I do, I will not grant him the same manner of death he picked for Alvarr. Before I am done with him, he will be begging for death._

She was no longer afraid of Merlin, not scared by the fact that the wretched servant could be crawling through narrow spaces in the twisting secret passages in the Grey Keep. _Let him come. Let him try and take my life as well. I will see him try._

However, she had to make sure Morgause was out of danger - the priestess had not come back to her senses and remained lying on her bedsheets, weak and unprotected. Morgana had to be certain the guards were both, inside the room and at the doors.

Without Alvarr, she felt utterly gone. He had died and taken a part of her with him, and now she would never be whole again, she would never know the triumphant feeling of completeness when their hearts, bodies and minds were joined as one. She would never smile at the admiration in his eyes when he'd listen to her moving speeches and daring battle strategies, she would never lean on his shoulder and watch the fire flames and listen to the legends of the old ways come back to life through the velvet hoarseness of his voice. Never, never, never.

It was only when she realized that the world was still an immense place with so many paths to take that she gave in and burst into tears. All those paths seemed so lonely without Alvaarr that thinking about choosing one caused her nearly physical pain...

***

When she opened her eyes, she saw a woman standing before her: dressed in a heavy rough-spun cloak, she was leaning on a staff and eyeing her intensely.

"Morgause," Morgana whispered, feeling her tongue disobey her, as though she was still too caught up in a dream. "How much time have I?..."

"Nearly two days," her sister said worriedly, lowering the hood. "Morgana, you have been grieving for two days, without food or drink. What do you mean to achieve with it? Do you so eagerly want to follow Alvarr into the grave?"

"Morgause... I... Everything I did, everything I achieved... I wouldn't have done it without Alvarr by my side," the smell of Alvarr's body was now making her eyes water, and she felt she could vomit any moment. "Now that he is... he is..."

_Now that he is gone. Say it. Say it, stupid. Do you really think it will bring him back to life if you refuse to say that he is dead? You are pathetic._

"Morgana," Morgause almost pleaded. "I know a terrible thing happened to you. But you are not to blame. Alvarr died because of me."

"What?!" Morgana flinched.

"It was my fault that Merlin wasn't killed after we had seen him in the Greenswood village. You warned me back then, sister, you did, and I was blind to the threat. I underestimated him. I thought he was nothing but a simple servant, yet how wrong I was... And when the guards captured him and his new mercenary master, I could have ended his miserable worthless life in the cells, but I wanted you to meet him. I wanted you to have the chance to punish him for all the woes. I should have killed him in Greenswood, I should have.... Or, if I could go back.... But no priestess can change the flow of time."

The rank stench of Alvarr's corpse was unbearable, but even it couldn't mask the smell of guilt on Morgause.

"Sister, please," Morgana begged her. "This is not your fault. It was Merlin, not you. It was... I wonder why he did it, why, why, why?! During the attack of the knights of Medihr he saw that the dead knight didn't kill me, I remember, he asked me why the knight hadn't harmed me, but was it enough?! Was it enough for him to believe I had conspired with the knights to kill him and Arthur and Uther? Is it why?! Oh, Morgause, what am I to do now?"

"Find Merlin and kill him," Morgause said with a withering look. "So long as he lives, you will never be secure. Goddess only knows where the servant means to strike next. We were fools to underestimate him, but we shall be smarter from now on."

_Yes, yes, yes, find him, find him, stab him in the belly and wrap him in the cloak and bury him alive beneath the leagues of earth._

Overwhelmed by grief as she was, neither the terrible pain and weakness from the wound left by Alvarr's death nor her sister's presence could dim her hatred to Merlin.

"How do we kill him? Where do we find him?"

"That is a complicated matter, sister. Truth be told, that wretched servant could be anywhere in Camelot, from Asgorath to Ascetir and from Nemeton to Idirsholas. The druids... we don't have patrol networks that would permit us to try and trace him down."

"But the crown has," Morgana's eyes were on fire. "The crown of Camelot. They have patrols and knights all over the realm. Watches established in major towns and big villages. If I am Queen, I will find him quicker."

"Morgana," her sister seemed taken aback. "I... got the impression you wouldn't marry King Rion? You said so..."

"...before Merlin killed Alvarr," Morgana gave priestess a lingering look. "If I am to search for Merlin on my own now, I may spend months if not years before I finally serve vengeance. I don't have that long. I mean to serve it hot."

Morgause looked thoughtful.

"Morgana, I can't let you marry King Rion..."

"What?! Can't let me marry Rion? But you told me yourself I needed to do it, you told me yourself this marriage could be political and that you had ways to keep him out of my bed and...."

"Morgana, let me finish," she broke in the fury that seized Morgana's voice. "I can't let you marry King Rion just to use Camelot's patrol network to find Merlin and kill him. A crown is not a game. Once you wear it, you will have great responsibilities. It will not be just about finding Merlin and slaughtering him."

"It will be my first royal decree. I will promise lands and lordship to the one who brings me his head," Morgana said with a wary wicked smile. "Or any other part of his!"

"Sister, you must understand... I know that seeing through the mist of grief is not an easy thing to ask. I myself have learnt how grief can cloud judgement, yet there are things that must be spoken before... we proceed. Sister, what happened to you and Alvarr had happened to hundreds if not thousands of men, women and children across the realm. This is what people like Merlin and Uther did to druids, to witches, to warlocks. They killed grooms and brides. They broke families. They left children parentless. They spread misery and sorrow across the land and drove people into hiding. Right now, out there, there are so many people who, too, lost their loved ones because of creatures like Merlin and Uther. But if you become Queen of Camelot, you can change that. If you become Queen of Camelot, you can make sure that no such thing ever happens again. If you become Queen of Camelot, you will see to it, you will ensure that Alvarr's fight had not gone in vain. I know you're a capable fighter and soldier, but with five thousand Essetir swords at our command, the most important battles will be fought at court. Do you want to marry King Rion now and bring freedom to the thousands of druids and magic folk of Albion?"

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was the last chapter for Morgana POV in this fic :'( 
> 
> Oh, I have so much to say about her that I think I'd rather take it to the afterword, for it would take pages and pages in this tiny note window. She has done so much, she had been brave enough to follow her way, yet darkness found her no matter what. Let us hope she will learn truth about Alvarr's murder one day and change her mind on Merlin :)
> 
> 8 chapters left! <3


	75. Daughter In Law

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Queen Regent Yrien rides with Sir Tawton Dindrane to a secret discussion of an alliance with Druid rebels.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yrien POV

The farther north, the colder the winds were rising, and Yrien felt shy of another traveling cloak that would have protected her from the evil chill. Queen Regent had no doubt the chill was evil by nature, its origins hidden somewhere behind the river Albus, the magic shield of the druid folk that protected them from blades, daggers, knives, spears and arrows of their foes.  _Would that I could have a magic shield to protect the castle of Camelot from Vyda Gaheris. A magic shield. That would have made her lose the remaining drops of sanity in her withered wits._

What difference would another cloak make? The commoners could hardly suspect it was Queen Regent and Sir Tawton Dindrane riding north, for Yrien tried to dress like some tavern wench and picked the least distinctive horse from Lord Cynric's stables. She wondered what had become of her Royal Treasurer.  _Has he chosen to side with Vyda Gaheris as well? Does he nurture hopes Vyda will recognize him as the Lord of Gedref_? Queen Yrien has written a couple of letters to Cynric, urging him to return to his duties, but she got no response. Some said Cynric was dead.

Lord Cynric's alleged death was so far one of the most innocent rumours filling the Lower Town. Even three days after the riots in the capital of Camelot, the streets didn't feel safe. Yrien heard mad preachers in the Southern Village, old ragged men who claimed to be prophets and future-readers. They often shouted that the downfall of Camelot was brought from violating the sweet memory of Uther Pendragon, from abandoning Uther's great fight against magic. She had seen people donating coins to fund the new purge. She meant to put an end to all this travesty once she returned to the castle of Camelot.

 _If I return,_  Yrien thought. She had no company, no knights from Brechfa, nobody to guard her save for Sir Tawton Dindrane.  _He might be my guard or my murderer,_  Yrien thought warily. _He is the old bat's son_. However, Queen Regent had not been so foolish as to ride to the secret meeting with the Druid leaders without all the necessary preparations made. Both Anna Dindrane's granddaughters were invited to Woodspeak, where they were meant to remain as honorable guests of Lord Chefyl's son.  _Shall aught go amiss at these negotiations, shall Sir Tawton Dindrane think of betraying his duty of guarding me, both Tawton's young sweet innocent daughters will be put to swords and butchered in the castle of Woodspeak._

The bitter morning chill touched the sky as well, and summer dawn felt cold and crystal clear, mirrored in the drops of dew in the grass and on the tree branches. Thin hunting forests to the north of the castle of Camelot carried some premature autumn air about them, and Yrien tried to slow her horse so that the wind would be trying to rip her cloak a bit less eagerly.

Yrien had seldom been that far north; Mercian trade road was never valued in the castle of Brechfa which lay much closer to Burnwood and Portstown, each a trading wonder of its own.  _Portstown_. The thought that Pendragon banner was flapping at the drum towers of the castle of Gedref made her think of Rion again.  _So long as the Pendragon pup lives, my son's claim would never be secure._

_But now he is safe and Rion's safety should not be a matter of concern. He is protected day and knight by the most seasoned and capable Brechfa Knights. Sir Logsheath will perform his duties well. Why, the whole castle of Camelot is filled with Brechfa men, it can drown in the yellow cloaks. Anna Dindrane has nothing to oppose it. How do you like it, old bat?_

Anna Dindrane was not a threat when it came to guards, knights and swords. She was widow to the late Demeth Dindrane, one of Uther's most trusted warlords who helped the conquest run until it ended with five kingdoms forming one. After Urther had been crowned King of Camelot and all her territories, Demeth chose to stay at court and abandoned his home seat of Denaria for good, passing it to his sister Galla Dindrane.  _Anna has no rights for Denaria. Neither Anna Dindrane nor her stupid son hold lands, knights and guards. They are just a withered family name, no further than one step from the grave._

Yet Yrien had to acknowledge that all those who remained in Camelot could end up sharing a  _common_  grave. Vyda Gaher's wrath was upon them. All the stories about Sir Vidor's murder had one thing in common: people were whispering Yrien meant to kill not only Vidor, but also Safir and Caridoc.  _Well, I did invite them to come to the castle of Camelot as my honorable guests, but only because I meant to hold them hostage while Vyda Gaheris smashed the Pendragon pup in Portstown. Without her elder son and two grandsons behind the walls of Camelot, she could have been tempted to direct her force into Midlands after Portstown. But I never meant to harm Safir, or Vidor or Caridoc. But now that Sir Vidor is dead, his grandma Vyda will not lift a bloody finger to put an end to Pendragon pup. Not before she avenges me and the whole Midlands for the death of her grandson._

_Vyda must have really gone mad if she intends to shed rivers of blood for her grandson. I hate this stupid wench, she is the reason of all the bad things that happened in my life. She bloody was the princess of Mountain Land during Uther's conquest. She was married to Prince Ulwich. How could she let Uther's conquest even start? Why didn't she tell her husband to have Uther's head? On what rights could Uther lead men to war with Eofham and Brechfa? That was madness. Uther's mother was daughter of King Edren, I understand, but he had no rights for the throne and he ought to have obeyed by Prince Ulwich's will. How could he disobey his own uncle?_

That nearly made Yrien fall off her horse.  _Rion. My son. Ryence was his uncle, just like Ulwich was the uncle of Uther. Could it be? No, no, no, that's impossible. I saw Rion the night Uther's ghost came, I saw fear and nervousness in his eyes, he wouldn't have, he would have never wanted Ryence dead... That is folly. Sheer folly._

"Is your grace feeling unwell?" Sir Tawton noticed.

"Your grace wants to end this wretched ride as fast as possible. I am not accustomed to traveling the land dressed like some tavern whore, sir, and it brings little pleasure to me."

Much as she hated the Dindranes, Yrien knew that both, Sir Tawton and his old mother Anna could be useful.  _Anna can act as a guarantee for out agreement with the revolting Druids. They still remember that she is the granddaughter of the last Druid Queen. If I get five thousand swords to protect Midlands and the castle of Camelot and all I have to do is marry Rion and lift the ban on magic..._

_Marriage is easy. Oh, how the worthless mob will rejoice when the news breaks. Gallant King Rion saved Lady Morgana from the Dark Witch! Magic is defeated! Now get back to your worthless lives, fools. See, your new young king defeats dark witches left and right and saves the beautiful ladies of the court from the depraved clutches of priestesses of the old ways._

_Morgana's return would do a lot to please the mob and to prevent further riots, though. It's small wonder that they actually allowed their fury to flood the streets. First a dark witch makes half the kingdom fall asleep and kidnaps Lady Morgana, who seemed to be the only Noble lady caring about peasants. Then a bloody dragon attack. After that, Cenred's invasion and the threat to lose all harvest. And just when Ryence smashed Cenred's army and everything seemed fine, a witch murdered the champion of Camelot. I must be happy they hadn't burnt the Lower Town._

_Yet if Lady Morgana's return could do wonders to the mood in the capital, what about lift of the magic ban? Let's face it, they will skin me alive if I breathe a word about lifting the ban. And let's face it, I prefer my skin whole and unharmed._

"How long, Sir?" Yrien asked when she saw the distant outskirts of the village that promised to be Greenswood.

"Not long at all, your grace. You can already glim..."

"I told you not to call me your grace, you idiot! This whole mummer's show will prove useless if you keep calling me "your grace". It was agreed that I shall travel incognito. Calling me your grace is as useful as unwrapping Gingawaine banners to conceal my identity."

"Pardons, your gr... My lady. My courtesies are hard to overcome."

 _Your courtesies are a big fat lie,_  Yrien thought as she kicked the horse to send it into the final gallop before their destination.  _You and your old bat of a mother mean to restore the Druid dynasty to its old dominion. I will not let it happen. I will see you fight Vyda Gaheris and then I slaughter whoever survives this folly and make Rion as secure as a king can be._

The village of Greenswood looked messy and uncared, resembling an overgrown storehouse rather than a place where people were supposed to lead their lives. The roads were ridiculously busy, and Goddess only knew how all the carts, wheel houses, riders, people, geese, sheep and children coexisted without stumbling upon each other. Whoever was on the road was constantly shouting "make way!" Or "beware!" Or "out of the way, you son of a wench!". It pleased Yrien to see that the Mercian trade was so healthy despite all the diplomatic tensions within her kingdom, yet it proved once again that Uther's policy turned into a disaster.

In the rest of the kingdom, villages belonged with the administrative authority of towns, and towns were sworn to castles. Each castle and each town had its own lord, the lord of the castle always superior than the lord of a town.

However, after the Purge, Uther grew so paranoid of the Druid sympathies in the area of the castle of Camelot that he decreed that all the villages and towns in the area of the castle of Camelot should be ruled directly by the Councilor of Camelot, making sure all the towns in the former Druid lands would have no lords. All the lords who held towns before the purge were moved to the court of Camelot and called the great houses of the kingdom.

As a result, many of the settlements turned into stench-besieged landlocked ports where merchants would rent storehouses while most people would still live in wooden shacks that would be swallowed by fire whenever some kitchen maid forgets about her bakery.  _I must tell Rion that we need to do something about it._

Yet surprisingly, it could be Rion that could ruin all her plans. Ever since riding to the Lower Town to address the rebelling crowd, her son had been growing unruly.  _If he thinks that one bloody address to the dirty mob of the Lower Town is what makes him a king... He doesn't deserve to rule before he comes of age, then._

Rion had other views; he had begun to regard himself as a man, not a boy, a man above his mother's counsel and beyond Queen Regent's authority. She blamed it on Sir Leon and all those tales of Courage and Wisdom he'd been sharing with Rion whilst teaching him horse ride and lance. Now it was dawning upon Yrien that all her frustration from losing her first son was mirrored in Rion, but that didn't make it any easier to bear.  _He thinks wearing an armor can make him king. It's not the armor, it's the crown he must be learning to wear._

The inn was immense and despite the awful stench of horseshit from the local stables, Yrien was happy to get behind doors into a room where several fires were dancing in the hearths.

"Two spiced wines," she told the innkeeper, a mustached grey-haired man with peach-pink cheeks and round belly, before throwing him a coin. "Warm. You will get another coin if you're fast with that."

Sir Tawton led her to the less peopled area on the second storie, helping her climb the dusty and creaky staircase that could have ended her life.  _How do they walk these dreadful steps?_

There they were, beside a dark brown table, a lean, grey-bearded man with a face which seemed to be permanently frowning, and a young girl with black onyx hair, comely face and the eyes that reminded Yrien neither of Ector Gorlois nor of Vivienne, but rather of somebody else, somebody Yrien struggled to remember.  _Two of them for two of us._

"I trust you are Ruadan?" Yrien asked, taking her seat opposite the famed leader of the Druid tribe, the one who outlived Uther's raids and both waves of the Great Purge.

"Your gra..." The frowning man stood up.

"Don't call her that," Sir Tawton broke in. "She doesn't want to be recognized."

_At least he learns fast._

"Lady Morgana," Yrien nodded, trying to mask her astonishment.

"My lady," the girl responded with icy courtesy.

"I can't believe my own eyes. It's a relief to see you well. But in such company? My lady, how did you end up among... This folk?" Yrien asked carefully.

"This  _folk_  saved me from the Dark Witch," Morgana's hands jerked as though mere recollections of the kidnapping stung her like vipers. "From her tortures and her cruelty. They stumbled upon her hideout and overpowered the high priestess. They showed me kindness which Uther never showed them."

"By the laws of our land they should have handed you to the crown," Yrien remarked.

"I am no purse to be handed, my lady. I can decide for myself."

_This one is a tough tart._

"I meant no offense, my lady," Yrien said, feeling that ruining relationship with the soon-to-be wife of her son could be a start to an ill reign.  _Or a civil war._  "All I wanted to say was that there were ways to advocate Druid rights at court. There was no need for a highborn lady like you to remain in the hiding."

"To advocate Druid rights at court?" Morgana and Ruadan exchanged smirks. "Forgive me, my lady, but when was the last time you've seen anybody advocate Druid rights at Uther's court?"

"Uther has been dead for some time. King Ryence had different approach. You had the chance to see it. He chose to send Anna Dindrane as the crown's envoy to the Druid leaders, to discuss the rebellion peacefully even though fat Sagramore was urging him to use Vyda Gaheris swords to murder all the Druid rebels."

Morgana's eyes gleamed with curiosity.

"King Ryence had no lack of judgement, it would seem. I was sorry to hear about his death."

_You couldn't care less._

The peach-pink innkeeper brought two cups of spiced wine and after Yrien gave him another gold coin, he bowed down so low she was afraid he'd slam his head against the floor. The wine wrapped her tongue in the warm sour-sweet bliss and colored her cheeks. She savored the feeling of prickling warmth spreading through her chest as she swallowed the drink.

"King Ryence was murdered by the wraith of Arthur Pendragon," Yrien said not without a trace of accusation to her tone. "He died because of magic."

"Dark magic," Morgana's correction was delivered in a tone which suggested Yrien had said something arrogant.

"But magic nonetheless."

"Dark magic is not all magic, this is what Lady Morgana is trying to say," Ruadan stepped in the conversation after spending most of the time frowning.

"And what I am trying to say is that staying faithful to all the terms of our agreement may be troublesome at the present moment," Yrien took another sip.  _She has beautiful hair, this Morgana_. "There were riots in the Lower Town, you may ask Sir Tawton and read his mother's letter. People were enraged with yet another noble life lost to the dark witch. Sir Vidor."

"She is dangerous. She tortured me and told me I would beg for the relief of death," Morgana nodded, trembling. "Sir Vidor, after all, enjoyed a fast passing."

"Her attack pushed the kingdom to the verge of the civil war," Yrien fingers were clutching the cup so tightly it appeared she may break it any moment. "Sir Vidor is the grandson of Vyda Gaheris, the Lady of Daobeth. She will not stand the news of her grandson murdered at his betrothal feast in the castle of Camelot. She will seek vengeance. And when war comes, people will remember that it started because of dark witch. How am I supposed to lift the ban on magic under such circumstances?"

"We do not propose to lift the magic ban at once," Ruadan cleared his throat. "The path should be cautious, and walked step by step."

"And how many steps will there be?"

"Three. The first one is marrying Lady Morgana to King Rion. If we agree on the terms, King Rion will embark on his first royal quest and come back to the castle of Camelot with Lady Morgana," Ruadan said, his frown becoming a shade less intense. "Small folk will believe he saved Lady Morgana from the Dark Witch."

"Be it as it may, but Morgana will not marry Rion before I see five thousand swords camping at the castle of Idirsholas," Yrien warned him sternly.

"Fair enough. After the host arrives at Idirsholas, Morgana's and King Rion's marriage will take place, with all the court in attendance."

"All the court?" that made Yrien laugh. "What court? They all deserted me. I have nobody left save for Dindranes and Lamoraks."

"However small the court, they all must attend the marriage. You shall invite the noble guests as well, including envoys of Mercia, Gwynedd, other kingdoms and the Blanchefleurs of Ascetir."

_He knows. He knows the Blanchefleurs have fled as well. What else do these wretched Druids know?_

"After the marriage takes place, we will be ready to hand the command of five thousand swords to you, but only if you permit Lady Morgana to have her own guards in the castle of Camelot," Ruadan added, and Yrien's smile died.

"Impossible. The castle of Camelot, the Lower Town and the Southern Village will be guarded by Brechfa men only. I will not permit a single sword that is not sworn to house Gingawaine."

"Then the five thousand swords will be commanded by one of our own, who will work in close cooperation with your Councilor of War."

_Sir Leon. Goddess be good. Will he fancy it? Yet what choice do I have? To let Morgana bring her own guards into the castle and endanger Rion's life?_

"Good," the Queen agreed reluctantly. "Sir Leon and your man will command the host of five thousand swords together. The second step?"

"Once the army of Vyda Gaheris is defeated, you shall spread tale that a lot of Druids fought bravely to protect the castle of Camelot and the Midlands from the westerners. As a gesture of gratitude, you shall reward the Druids with lands where they could live freely without a threat of being prosecuted."

_That doesn't sound hideous._

"I shall do so only if we defeat Vyda Gaheris."

"Yes. After that is done, we shall repeal the ban. When winter comes," Ruadan said, his lips as close to smiling as they could be.

"So that people don't have the courage and strength to rebel against such decision when they are living on the saved crops," Yrien read him quickly. "Well-thought."

She swallowed more spiced wine and looked around. There she was, a queen regent in some forsaken Greenswood tavern discussing the terms of the alliance with the Druids who claimed they would give her five thousand swords to protect the castle of Camelot from Vyda Gaheris if the crown agreed to lift the magic ban.  _How has it come to this? Why does the kingdom seem falling apart right after Uther's death? No, this is wine speaking, not me. Nothing is falling apart. I will fix it. I will set things right. I will rid the court of the Druids, of the Dindranes, of the Gaheris family and of the Pendragon pup. I must be strong, must be strong for Rion._

"If there is aught you wish to say, my lady, say it now," Ruadan tried to sound softly, but she knew the tone too well to mistake it for benevolent. "Once we fix the terms and Lady Morgana and Sir Tawton witness us agree, the alliance can't be undone."

_Shall I tell them about Arthur's rebellion? Don't they know? The small folk is wild with talks about army of the dead and the wraiths in the Labyrinth of Gedref. But Arthur is not a threat at all. So long as the Pendragon pup is kept behind the walls of Portstown, he'll have no more than three hundred men at his command. What can he win with that? Sir Leon's and Lord Gloss of Chemary will be outnumbering him three to one. I shall deal with him in due time, oh, I promise I shall._

"The matters of politics are plain and clear," Yrien said. "Would that I could put personal terms on paper as well, so that my soon-to-be daughter in law were more obedient to Queen Regent."

"I am as obedient as you are, your grace," Morgana said, not even trying to make Yrien believe it.

 

***

Here's the map of different fractions that strive to gain control over the crown of Camelot: 

Thin red zone in the south belongs to the territory of Gedref where Arthur of House Pendragon styles himself as King of Camelot and all her territories;

Dark-pink to the west are the lands of Daobeth and Asgorath, where Vyda Gaheris, the Lady of Daobeth, has started an open rebellion against the Crown after her grandson Vidor was murdered at his own betrothal feast in the castle of Camelot;

Yellow is the colour of Gingawaines, and it marks all the territories in Camelot where King Rion is recognized as the sovereign, and his mother Yrien as Queen Regent;

The territories controlled by Druid Rebellion are of green colour.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter for Yrien POV in this fic :) 
> 
> There are two more chapters to be published before we come back to Portstown and the Castle of Gedref: "Druid Envoys" for Gwen POV and "Last Dragonlord" for Merlin POV. 
> 
> After that we shall witness the reunion of king and his warlock!!!


	76. Faint Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Gwen stays in the castle of Camelot as riots grow in the Lower Town.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Gwen POV

As if the horror of the betrothal feast was not enough, the evenfall brought another thing to dread - riots. Gwen heard the shouts through the shutters, and realized something was wrong. _Another attack? What is it this time? Some fire beasts? Enchanted wolves? Stone Knights and warriors_? 

The unrest in the Lower Town, however, was not magical by nature, which in turns didn't make it any less potent of destruction. In the chaos that seized the castle after the death of Sir Vidor, Gwen could see that guards and Knights were the most scared of them all. _If Queen Yrien gives an order, they will have to obey and cut the commoners to stop riots._

"This is nothing serious," Gaius sounded as though he was trying to convince himself as he was escorting Gwen to his chambers. 

"Nothing serious?! Gaius, Sir Vidor was killed, Ewina is in tears, she has fainted, I think, and the witch, she was there, and..." 

"I was speaking about the riots, child. In case the protests grow too sparse, Yrien will raise the western and the southern bridges over moat." 

 _No doubt she will._ After King Ryence's death, Queen Regent had not stepped outside the castle and kept her son guarded day and night. Some said she was still fearing that Arthur's wraith would come and take her son's life, but Gwen knew it was no bloody wraith Lady Yrien was fearing. _She is afraid of Uther's ghost. She knows Rion played a part in Uther's poisoning._

No rain would pass without leaving a rainbow, though, and Gwen was happy that at least Lancelot and Gwaine were safely locked in the cells for their mischievous fight the previous day. No harm will come to them in the cells. _They are safe from the riots and safe from the witches. I have to talk to them, I have to talk to Lancelot. And Gwaine._

To wish it was easier than to achieve it. The cells had never been guarded as zealously under Uther as they were under Queen Yrien's reign. They said she had strengthened the security measures after someone broke into the castle while King Ryence was fighting a war in Brechfa. 

By the Time they reached Gaius's chambers, they had passed no less than a dozen sprinting guards, and maids and servants were rushing in the corridors as well. The shouts in the Lower Town were getting louder, and Gwen's ears reddened when she began to hear _what_ the commoners were cheering. _PURGE! PURGE!! UTHER! KILL THE WITCH!_

"You stay here, child," Gaius instructed her. 

"And you?" 

"There are people who might need my help. Sir Vidor is dead, and I'm afraid there is nothing I can do, but his bride... She may need potions, elixirs, her mental breakdown can cause her much harm. Not to mention Lord Sagramore! Considering his weight, I fear for his heart." 

"Gaius, what's to be now? Sir Vidor was the honorable guest of the castle, he won the tourney, his grandmother..." 

"Gwen, let us not try and overburden our minds with distant matters. We have the night to survive. More than ten thousand people live in the Lower Town and the Southern Village. Yrien commands just over two hundred and fifty guards scattered all over the castle and the Lower Town. If the crowd grows unruly..." 

"We'll have no option but to raise the bridges," Gwen concluded, trying to calculate the amount of food stored within the castle walls. _What will happen to the guards on the other side of the moat? Will they join the crowd? Will they flee? Will they remain loyal to the crown?_

"Do not open the door to anybody, child," Gaius told her before he grabbed his potion bag and walked away into the chaos of the corridor. 

 _This is wrong,_ Gwen thought. _Sir Vidor was so young and so gallant, so full of hopes and so drunk with love for his sweet young bride. He was a tourney champion, almost a warrior. Warriors die at the battle field, not at their own betrothal feasts. Oh, how his grandma will grieve. How the whole castle will grieve._

The thoughts that conjured up in her mind during the feast seemed foolish in the hindsight of what she had just been through. _I was feeling sad because I knew neither Lance nor Gwaine would ever be able to pay for such a lavish wedding ceremony. And now that I've seen how this gold turns to sorrow in a blink of an eye, I don't want such ceremony. How can anybody actually envy nobles? Truly, when peace lasts, they lead the sort of lifestyle most people only hear of in legends and tales and songs, but when the winds of war blow, the nobles are often the first to suffer. Yrien has lost her brother and she is now fearing she will lose Rion. I bet she is._

Back during the feast, Gwen undestood the woman who had sent a dagger into Sir Vidor's heart was not Lady Yrien, yet throwing her goblet and hitting Yrien's impersonator on the head was such a joy. Yrien's face still provoked fear and anger after everything Gwen had been through in the dragon cells. _When she entered the feast hall, I thought Ewina would kill Yrien. I feared Ewina would not understand._

_How could I be so stupid as to actually feel jealous of the splendor of this betrothal feast? Did I learn nothing from Morgana? She taught me so much, she showed how nobles are meant to wear masks instead of faces and stones instead of hearts. I don't even know if Ewina was willing to marry Sir Vidor. Well, judging by her look and her behavior, she was ready to jump into bed with him, but still... Maybe she was acting. They are acting all the time._

_Gold can't buy love. Gold can't buy friends. It can buy a mummer's game where people will come and pretend they care about each other. True love and true friends are a miracle, almost like magic_ , Gwen thought. 

When darkness came knocking on the eastern sky, tensions in the castle grew so unruly it appeared the walls were booming. Night was upon them, and rioting crowds could be expected to light torches. _With torches in their hands, the situation can quickly turn from dangerous to lethal_ , Gwen trembled, recalling the horrors of the dragon attack. Knights seemed to understand it, too, and Gwen heard, through a narrow crack in the door, that more guards were being sent to the Lower Town. _Is it that bad?_

Judging by the chanting from the crowd, the picture was grim. People were fed up with magic attacks, they grew tired of fearing wraiths, dragons, Dark Witches and magic beasts. They were tired of telling their children not to go to the Darkling wood to collect summer berries, for Arthur's wraith could be waiting there. They needed a king who would be like Uther, with a firm hand and the will to protect his people not only from the greedy foreign kings and warlords, but from the foes that dwelled within their very own kingdom. 

_Morgana, you've chosen the right time to leave. It may as well be that hatred of magic will reach new heights. Who could've thought that people will turn even more bloody in their stance against magic after Uther's death? I thought the attitudes would change. But Morgana knew better. She chose not to return to Camelot even after Uther's death._

***

The bells of dawn rang with tender lilac, and the sky to the east looked like flower bathed in the morning milk. It took Gwen some time to realize where she was, for she still hadn't got used to sleeping in Merlin's old room. She opened the shutters and let the cool wind wash over her face as her eyes preyed on what appeared to be the peaceful view of the Southern Village. _It's not just appearance. It is peaceful. Nothing burned. The riots are no more. They ended, oh, thank goddess._

When Gwen raced down the old creaky staircase, she saw the room shy of its master. _Where is Gaius? Has he got up so early? I wonder if the bakery is working today. I wonder if Yrien lets the king go out to the Lower Town and talk to his people? Explain everything? As if he understood anything about magic. He is green as..._

Gaius walked in abruptly, and by the wary expression of the old man's face, she guessed his head hand't touched the pillow at all. _Why?! Has anything bad happened?!_

"Gaius, please tell me that everyth..." 

"The King rode to the protestors himself," Gaius said without wishing her a good morning. "Fighting erupted on some streets. We lost some guards. However, when Rion appeared... The situation swung in our favor. The crowd went home." 

"Then why do you look so sad?" 

Gaius's wrinkles seemed to have grown deeper and his expression has something solemn about it. _He looks like the man who's about to deliver bad news._

"Gaius?" 

"Gwen, child, I'm afraid I have been appointed the Royal Secretary." 

Gwen looked at Gaius - in his dusty old robes that had been sweeping the stone floor and the street mud, the old physician looked as unlikely a person for this position as the errand boy from the tavern in the Southern Village. 

"Gaius, is this some jape?" 

"Why, Gwen?" Smile broke through the lock of his thin lips. "Do I look that unfit to you?" 

"Gaius, Goddess, you're not japing! But how? How?! Who?!"

The world was racing past her, and she could feel her knees shaking. Gaius, the prisoner of Yrien's hospitality, Gaius, who had been confined within the damaged Western Tower, Gaius, who could have lost his life had his solution with Meredoc salt not shielded Yrien and Rion from Uther... _Can it be true? Is the sun finally smiling on him and his grey hair?_

"It was the Royal command," Gaius said, breathing out heavily and not looking happy about his appointment at all. 

"Which Royal exactly? Queen Regent or..." 

"Queen Regent would have never made me her secretary. It was King Rion's decision, the one he made without taking his mother's views into consideration. Why, in fact, Queen Regent looked as though she'd set the whole place on fire when she saw Rion's new council." 

That made Gwen gasp in horror. _He is the new secretary. What happened to the old one? Did fat Sagramore die from heart attack after what happened at his daughter's betrothal feast?_

"Gaius? New council? What happened to the old one?! Are they.... Did they suffer during the riots?!"

Gaius nodded at the door. While Gwen was locking it, the old physician sank into his chair, emitting a heavy sigh. _He looks bad._

"Gwen, child, I am now waiting for the Royal decree with my appointment sealed by his majesty. King Rion has spent a sleepless night, and it's unlikely that I am officially named the Secretary before this evening. Everything can change, but... Gwen, you must know that... Most of court members are gone."

Her heart sank. 

"Gone how? Dead?!" 

"No. They fled."

"But... How could.... Why would they?"

"Lord Gornemant rode away to the castle of Toad Pit, where his wife Galla serves as the Lady of Denaria. Both his living sons and his granddaughter will be in Denaria, too." 

_Lord Gornemant. His son Arbay was burnt during the Dragon Attack._

"And what of Lord Sagramore? The Royal Secretary?!" Gwen whispered. 

"He fled as well. He and his wife and his daughter Ewina. All the Blanchefleurs disappeared, too. I reckon they went to Ascetir. Lord Vortimer, Lord Geraint, Lady Caelia, they all fled. They fear Vyda Gaheris will destroy the castle of Camelot for the murder of her grandson." 

Gwen wanted to bite her nails. _The invasion of Cenred was faked. Can it be that the kingdom which avoided foreign invasion will drown in the civil war?_

"Gaius, but that is... Treason?" 

"Make sure it is. From the crown's point of view. However, those who fled believe the crown will not have enough authority to punish them for treason. To Queen Yrien, they all are terrible traitors." 

"Gaius, but the crown is not to blame for Sir Vidor's death!" She screamed, as though she believed her protests could turn back time and undo the evil caused by the witch. "It was neither Rion nor his mother, anybody could have died at the feast and..." 

"One will need great skills of persuasion to make Vyda Gaheris believe it. Gwen, child, I have served at Uther's court for longer than I care to remember. She is a dreadful creature,” Gwen heard Gaius speak badly of some highly born lady for the first time. “She never visited Uther’s court when Uther was friends with Nimueh. She arrived shortly after Ygraine died, and told Uther he should be _happy_ he had _only_ lost his lady wife, for magic had often caused kingdoms to lose whole castles. She advocated burning forests to kill the druids. She hates magic more than Uther ever did." 

"Can anybody hate magic more than Uther?" Gwen mumbled, shocked.

"Well, Uther's hatred didn't appear out of nowhere. Ygraine's death did provoke it, but it had been stored in him. He, too, was a westerner. The west remembers the bitter taste of dragon fire." 

"Gaius, what... How do you..." 

Gaius cleared his throat and assumed a more decisive tone as he continued:

"Gwen, child, the castle of Camelot has become too dangerous a place to reside in. You must leave it, for your own sake." 

_The castle has never been safe. It has always been dangerous._

"Where would you have me go?" She asked, feigning curiosity to cover the reluctance that seemed to be burning through her. 

"To Ascetir. Enid Blanchefleur had served as Royal Treasurer under Uther. I know him well. He will not deny you a good place in Ascetir household." 

"You think Ascetir will not go to war?" 

"I have reasons to believe the Blanchefleurs mean to keep Ascetrir out of this war. Although... Well, Ascetir is now ruled by Enid's cousin, Segma. She lost both her sons in Arthur's patrol in Brechfa, and Goddess only knows what decisions Segma will make when pressed by so much grief..."

_He wants me gone. He wants me gone because he, too, thinks the castle is not safe any longer. He would flee himself were he any younger. Oh, would he? He remained at the castle after the fall of the Druid Queen. He remained at the castle after the Purge began. He was always here, it would seem._

"Can I talk to Lancelot first? And Gwaine?" 

"Not before I am named the Royal Secretary. Then I will have authority to permit you a date or even free both of them. Until that time, going to the cells is a bad idea. They are zealously guarded, and I am sure Queen Yrien will fill the cells with the most vocal rioters of this night. Now, Gwen, child, if you permit..." 

Gaius suggested he wanted to have some fair share of sleep, and Gwen was quick to retire from the room. The castle was as good as deserted. Gwen had to walk its corridors and to visit the Towers herself to behold how the nobles had run away, leaving everything save for jewels and gold and swords. Ewina's silk dresses were in her room, as though one of the outfits still expected to be worn for the actual wedding with Sir Vidor. 

Gwen went to the kitchens to listen to what the maids were gossiping about, and she immediately wished she hadn't heard half of what had passed their lips. Some said Lady Yrien killed Sir Vidor from jealousy, for she had fallen in love with the champion of Camelot and betrayed her honor when she bedded him, and couldn't stand the sight of Vidor marrying a younger girl. They said there were darker things awaiting the kingdom, they spoke of the army of the dead gathering at the labyrinth of Gedref. Some believed the streak of attacks befalling the kingdom was caused by the fact the King Ryence denounced Lady Ursula Gedref of her lordship. There were those who said she was to be burnt for failing to destroy the labyrinth. 

 _Then why do they bloody stay here, why don't they bloody leave for a safer place? Do I need to leave for a safer place? I can't do it now, I have Gwaine. His fight with Lancelot was a folly, but he's good-hearted, and I will not leave him, I will not leave without him._  

She was facing the opportunity to leave the castle of Camelot for the third time, and she regarded it as something divine. _Triple Goddess. Three opportunities_. The first one had arrived soon after Gaius had found out Gwen was to blame for poisoning Uther. _He meant to send me to Denaria, to join the household of Galla Dindrane._ Those plans never saw the light of day for Gaius was arrested, and Gwen herself had soon been thrown into the dragon cells. 

After Rion had freed her from the clutches of Lady Yrien, she thought of going away herself, but she felt too unsure, fearing that Yrien guards could kill her on the way. _And then I came home and met Merlin and Gwaine. Gwaine. He stayed with me, to watch over me, to be with me, to love me. So he says between calling me princess._

And now Gaius was offering her to go away to Ascetir, to work at Edin Blanchefleur household while the castle of Camelot, the Midlands and the West are engulfed in the war of the blood debt. _Must I finally leave this time? Must I find new home?_

 ***

Next morning, Gwen stood by the window in the eastern corridor on the second storey and saw the nobles gather in the inner yard. When she woke up, Gaius had been off to his duties already, and Gwen had to break her fast alone. Since Gaius could not serve as both, a physician and the Royal Secretary simultaneously, Gwen was freed of her apprentice duties. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't enjoying this little legal irresponsibility, carelessness and the lazy morning, but guesses and inquiries could not let her mind rest while she was waiting for the herbal tea to brew.

_Will Gaius keep me as his servant now that he is the Royal Secretary? Might be he will not. I remember he was deeply disappointed when he learnt I helped Rion kill Uther. What did he tell me the morning when they announced Uther's and Arthur's passing? "Gwen, whatever you've done you did because you had reasons. Because you thought Uther deserved it or... Uther's death, you see... Indeed, can make... It can make life better for some people. But you have been used in a game of far greater scale than you can possibly comprehend."_

_Of that he was right. The game's scale is so vast it encompasses Camelot from Asgorath to the West and Ascetir in the East. Will Gaius trust me knowing that I have helped one king find his way into the grave? Will he share bits of information with me? Is it why he wants to send me to Ascetir? Because he thinks I ruined everything when I killed Uther?_

From the corridor on the second storie, the view over the yard was as clear as the windows permitted. Gwen saw a sea of yellow Gingawaine cloaks. King Rion was there, and his mother, too. Lady Dindrane, a wizened short old woman, was kissing her granddaughter on the cheeks. Ravenna was dressed lavishly, covered by quartered gown of green silk, decorated with golden Suns and silver Moon crescents. She was seventeen, her shapes so womanly the guards' looks kept lingering on the dark-haired beauty longer than expected. Her sister, Medinna, was just thirteen and a bit ungainly and surely uncomfortable in the splendid ivory dress they made her wear. For a moment, Gwen thought the Dindranes were fleeing as well, but then she remembered the yard was overgrown with Royal guards. _What is happening?_

She watched Ravenna an Medinna Dindrane disappear in the expensive wheelhouse and hurried back to her chambers as the Royal procession started walking back into the castle. Gaius returned a couple of hours later, and entered the room when Gwen was reading a book on rare fruits, their extracts and their possible use in the healing arts. 

"Where did the girls go?" She asked without greeting. 

"The Dindrane girls?" Gaius frowned. 

"Yes. I saw them in the yard. The king and the queen came to bid them goodbye." 

"They were invited to spend some time in the castle of Woodspeak," Gaius said, his tone betraying discontent. "They shall be honorable guests of Lord Chefyl's son." 

"Gaius? Something is happening? Something you don't like? Are these girls in danger?" 

"For our own sake, let us hope they are not," Gaius sighed. "The kingdom will not stand losing another two young lives. That would be cruel of fate."

_Since when is fate kind? We have not much to thank fate for recently._

"Then what is wrong?" 

Gaius's reeked of fear. _If not for the girls, then what is it?_

"Gwen, child, I have been named the Royal Secretary yesterday evening. I am now sworn to counseling the king. Some secrets I..." 

"You know Rion can't be king," Gwen's eyes were wide with disbelief. "You know that Merlin and A..." 

Gaius raised his hand, begging her to keep it quiet. _Well, right, yes. Shouting dead Prince's name, a wraith's name, it can earn a handful of troubles._

"When the rightful king of Camelot raises his banners, I shall counsel Rion to step aside and let the rightful king wear the crown," Gaius assured her. "For now, though, we must act cautiously and not have any conversations involving matters of state. Except for one." 

"What is it?" 

"Gwen, I know how you've missed her. I know how you... You have the right to know that chances are Lady Morgana might return to the castle of Camelot." 

***   

In the cells, the torches were burning even in daytime. Gaius's new seal permitted her to cross the watch quickly. The old physician’s assumption proved right: the cells were overflowed with the most active protestors whom Yrien ordered to arrest the previous day. However, among the many sore faces Lancelot's sad smile and Gwaine's sly look were easy to notice. They looked tired, but had no lack of food or water. _Why, they nearly look like friends._

"These ones," she told the guards, pointing at Lancelot and Gwaine.

"You heard the girl," the guard barked. "Get out, unless you mean to earn yourselves some months here!"

The lads didn't require to be invited twice. As soon as the iron bars swung open, they hurried out of the cells. 

"Princess," Gwaine muttered and caught Lancelot's angry look. 

"You fools," Gwen said in the happiest tone she could recall from that summer. "If only you knew what it... It was rather hard, but I've found a way. You're free to go." 

"Next time, you sort your love affairs within your own damn houses," the guard sent a warning from behind their backs.

They walked the staircase in silence: tensions were rising as often as they came across the guards of the castle, all of whom demanded to see the document sealed by the Royal Secretary that permitted two lads to be freed from the cells. 

"Folks were telling wild stories," Gwaine said when they finally emerged out of the door and headed to the western bridge. "Some foolish talk about riots and the king and queen swallowed by some wraith..." 

"There were riots," Gwen said, keeping her voice half-low. "The evening on the day of your arrest, the dark witch crawled into castle and killed Sir Vidor." 

"No way!" Gwaine screamed. "Not Sir Vidor!" 

"Who was Sir Vidor?" Lancelot asked, confused.  

"The champion of King's Tourney," Gwaine said proudly. "I saw him! We watched him! He rode so fast yet was agile as a cat, and he even unhorsed Sir Tawton Dindrane in the f..." 

"Forget about the bloody tourney," Gwen hissed. "He is dead, and half the court is gone now." 

They stopped at the western bridge, where unpleasant smell was rising from the murky grey-green waters of the moat.  

"Why is the court gone?" Gwaine eyelashes were flapping. 

"Because Sir Vidor was a Knight, I suppose," Lancelot assumed. 

"Of course he was a knight, you donkey! Only Knights are allowed to take part in the to..." 

"He wasn't just _some_ knight," Lancelot paid no attention to the donkey remark. "He was some special Knight, right, Gwen?" 

"Goddess be good, he was," happy as she was at the faint hope of seeing Morgana again, Gwen knew her mistress might be returning to the castle where winds of war would be howling. "He was the grandson of Vyda Gaheris." 

"The mad hound of the west, they call her," even Gwaine's playful attitude was gone. "What does she mean to do about her grandson's murder?" 

"Nobody knows for sure. But half the court was fearing the worst. That's why they ran away," Gwen said. 

They were standing on the bridge, the two of them. A man from her past and a man from her present. The one who had inflicted terrible wounds on her heart, and the one who made her heart sing a sweet summer song when everything seemed grim and hopeless. Yet if everything was so clear, why did her eyes sought meeting Lancelot's?  

"We must go, too," Lancelot blurted out before clearing his throat and raising his voice to outdo the wind. "Gwen, Merlin is waiting for you. For all of you. For you and for Gwaine, if you _insist_." 

 _He doesn't like it. Doesn't like Gwaine. Goddess, if not for the guards, he'd challenge Gwaine to a single combat right now._  

"Where is Merlin?" Gwen asked suspiciously. _He just seemed to disappear. How many days has it been? Where did he go? What did he do? Why would Arthur entrust any mission to Merlin? Because he has nobody save for Merlin left?_

"Merlin is with Arthur, in Gedref. We shall all go," Lancelot urged them. "If this Vyda Gaheris means to take her revenge on the castle of Cameot, nobody is safe here."

_Go. Go somewhere. Go. He always wants to go. I was such a fool to believe that he could change all the ways he'd be living._

"And if we go to Gedref, you think we'll be safe there?" she asked challengingly. _Will Arthur be happy to learn I poisoned his father?_ "When half the land recognizes King Rion and the West follows Vyda Gaheris?" 

"The Castle of Gedref is as impregnable as the castle of Nemeton. We shall be safe there..." 

"Lancelot, I _can't_ go." 

The wind was howling, yet the sky was as generously blue as though it were the last summer day. She dared not look him in the eyes, would not look, couldn't look... Yet she was looking, and she knew he realized it all. His eyes were ablaze. _He means to fight. For me._

"Gwen. This is not about Merlin and Arthur," Lancelot said softly. "This is about you. Gwen, I understand that when I left, I did a bad thing. Now I'm asking you to go with me. Come with me. Please. Let's go to Gedref and start everything anew." 

His words were daggers. _Why, why, why couldn't you say these words back then, when you rescued me from Hengest's castle? I would have gone to the world’s end with you. Now is the ill time, now everything is different, now I... Morgana can come back. I can't go away when there is this tiny hope._

"Lance, I can't," she said, losing her voice to tears. "I really can't. I am sorry." 

"Gwen, this is our chance. Our chance to..." 

"You've heard the lady say her say," Gwaine, who had remained respectfully silent, stepped forward and took Gwen by the hand. "Must you besiege her with your pleas for half a day?" 

Lance didn’t look like he was ready to keep persuading Gwen for half a day, but for half a moment, Lancelot did consider throwing Gwaine into the moat waters. 

"Be it as it may," Lance said in an iron voice. “But I need to go to Gwen's house first. Merlin had some things left there."

"I shall accompany you," Gwaine nodded. "You stay in the castle, princess, the Lower Town is still too risky."  

Gwen grabbed Gwaine by the hand and her heart hammered at the roughness of his palm joining the soft skin of her hand. 

"Gwaine! Will you... Will you leave with Lancelot?"

"No. I am here to protect you, princess," he smiled and kissed her on the cheek. 

_Then you'll have a lot of job to do._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last chapter for Gwen POV in this fic :) 
> 
> OMG, all we have left now are Merlin and Arthur chapters, and I can't wait for the two of them to finally get together, it seems like it's been ages!!!
> 
> 6 chapters left now :)
> 
> The Last Dragonlord  
> Westerners  
> Battle of the Merchant's Bay  
> King and His Warlock  
> Two Sides of the Same Coin  
> The Labyrinth of Gedref


	77. The Last Dragonlord

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Kilgharrah visit the Crystal Cave after Merlin's escape from the dungeons in the castle of Idirsholas.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV

Kilgharrah’s red wings were not beating in the air, but rather flapping smoothly. His wings were as large as sails of ships Merlin had seen in some of Geoffrey’s books, and the dragon was skimming across the dark skies, with Merlin on his back. Young warlock could feel the heat of Kilgharrah as he was rubbing the serpentine skin with his thighs, his fingers scrabbling at large horns. Merlin was praying he would not fall, for he couldn’t even glimpse at the night’s void beneath him and shuddered at the thought of how the fall would break his bones into pieces. There was a haze of tears on his eyes, for Kilgharrah’s was flying with such a speed the wind seemed to be tearing Merlin’s eyelids apart. The stars were worth every moment of the flight, though, for they were larger, with flicker of the colours rarely visible from the earth: Merlin saw beams of blue, of yellow, of dark-red and purple. On the earth, the stars would often seem monotonously white, but on the dragon’s back they appeared to be as rich in light as gemstones, and the moon looked so close Merlin thought dragon could land there. On Kilgharrah’s back, Merlin felt no woes of the kingdom tormented by unrests and court feuds would ever touch Arthur. _If somebody tries to harm him, they will learn my wrath,_ Merlin thought, and Kilgharrah roared in response, as though their thoughts were as bonded as their souls. _I was meant to fly._

After overhearing the news of King Ryence’s death, Merlin escaped the castle of Idirsholas, enchanting two horses on his way, so that two stallions would escape and find Lancelot and that Camelot guard in the woods. When night had come, Merlin summoned Kilgharrah and off he flew.

After hours of flight, Merlin felt his thighs levitate, and his body rising by some command: Kilgharrah began his descend. Clouds were wrapping him soon, and his left ear seemed deaf, and Merlin gasped in admiration when he saw the black spines of White Mountains stretching to the right, with multiple rivers and streams glimmering grey and white in the moonlight. Wide flowed these rivers, until they met and kissed and flooded the narrow scratches of land left between them, and a thick river would flow eastward from the slopes of White Mountains. To the south of the mountain chain, swampy terrains were basked in mooncloak.

Kilgharrah stormed past the great swamp planes that separated Brechfa and Denaria, his wings causing trees to bend and muddy waters of the swamp to splash. The dragon hurried somewhere past the valley of the Fallen Kings, past the ruins of the ancient kings’ castle and landed on top of some stony rock in a gorge-wrinkled land. When they landed, Merlin slammed himself so hard against Kilgharrah’s neck he thought he could’ve broken his tooth.

“The crystal cave is beneath us, young dragonlord,” Kilgharrah announced. “This is the birthplace of magic herself. In the crystals, a warlock of your powers can see many things. Dead and alive, real and imagined, what has been and what could have been, what is and what is still to come.”

“Thank you!” Merlin said, sliding off Kilgharrah’s back and tail. “I will be quick!”

“That is not for you to decide, young dragonlord. Crystals do not obey your will. They show what you want to see, but these visions consume more time than it may appear. A glimpse into a crystal may last days in the crystal cave.”

“How do I make sure I don’t spend years here?!”

“Arthur must be the first thing on your mind now. Find him in the crystal and see that he is fine. Keep watching him, so that you don’t miss the moment when your help is of great need.”

Merlin climbed down the rock, scrapping his arms and knees raw. His palms had been raw already, from scrabbling at Khilgarrah’s horns too tight. He followed a narrow passage between two dark-grey, moss-covered rocks which led to a faint glow in a stone wall, where the mouth of the crystal cave was.  

The moment Merlin stepped over the threshold, he beheld the most spectacular view of his life. The crystals were everywhere: on the ceilings, on the walls, on the floor, scattered in vast numbers and glowing like stars. Suddenly, the cave sank into darkness, and then the crystals were lit up one by one, as though somebody commanded them to.

The glow in the cave turned from pale-white to blue. Merlin approached one particular crystal on a stone pedestal. He didn’t have to whisper Arthur’s name; all he had to do was to open his heart which belonged to Arthur by laws of magic and laws of men, which was beating in unison with his prince even when they were leagues away from each other. In the whirlwind of mists of the crystal, Merlin saw the castle of Gedref, where Arthur and Owaine were discussing something in a garden. _He is in Gedref_ , Merlin smiled. _He did it._

Merlin couldn’t tell how much time had passed before the other crystal showed him a different vision: he saw prince Darian writing a letter, and the words from the paper were for some reason spoken in Merlin’s head, or so it seemed.

_Edgy_

_I just arrived back to Camelot and I swear I wanted to cry all day. But then I remembered you told me we got to be strong and I promise I will be strong for you. I can’t believe I am actually writing this. If father or mother gets to read this letter I will be in such a trouble. Anyway I just wanted to let you know that I remember every single day. How you took me to the forest to show me a unicorn and how you then showed me another unicorn that’s in your breeches. How we went fishing and I caught more fish than you because I used magic (yes, I cheated on you and your hunting arse). How we went looking for wild dragons and I scared you so much jumping out of the bush that you kept running after me for half an hour. How we let mice into your sister’s room. How you’d call me your dragon._

_I will never forget you. I love you and I will visit you in winter even if it means war._

This letter was instantly replaced by a different one, and Merlin’s sight caught the picture in Arthur’s crystal: Arthur was crowned in some hall with a seashell throne.

_Edgy_

_This may be the end of it. They both learnt, I don’t know how. Father was furious, he threatened to throw me into the dragon cells and he did. Mother freed me. She keeps telling me it must not be the issue of love. She says that Dragonlords MUST BREED as though I am an animal. She wants me to breed the girl and let her give birth to my son, because the line must succeed. I asked her what if she gives birth to a girl, and she said Dragonlords have magic seed that ensures boys are born. Did you know that I had enchanted seed?_

_Edgy what am I to do? I wanted to run away and go to you, but father threatens to BURN GEDREF and PORTSTOWN if he finds me gone. Please help me I feel lost without you. Come and save me. I love you. I have been working on a spell that would allow me to conjure a very special place for you and me in Gedref. It will only be accessible to us, nobody will ever be able to find us there. For the rest of the world, it will look like a lifeless labyrinth, but for you and me, it will be the place where we shall be able to meet without the risk of being followed. One day I will spend weeks with you there. I love you._

The last letter had a sorrowful melody which made Merlin cry out of no evident reason.

_Edgy_

_Mother says there is some unrest in Mountain Kingdom. They speak of some Uther Pendragon gathering forces. There are rumours he wants to overthrow his grandfather, King Edren Gaheris. However, mother fears there can be Isle of the Blessed involved. Well she fears it all the time. Whenever someone farts in the throne room it is obviously an Isle of the Blessed conspiracy. Anyway, she said that if this Uther turns out to be aided by a Priestess, we shall use dragons to calm him down. I will come to you after the battle. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t raise banners. I am not a little boy, I am a dragonlord commanding a dragon, and I can deal with some silly usurper from Mountain Land. This Uther is no threat._

_He never came,_ Merlin thought _, he died there, died during the Battle of Ashes, leaving Reginald alone_. When Merlin looked into Arthur’s crystal, he saw mists over the calm waters of the bay, and sails, multiple sails approaching Portstown, all promising murder and destruction. All the rage of hell and heaven filled Merlin’s heart and he could feel his breath turn to fire. _I am not just a dragonlord. I am a creature of the earth, the sea and the sky, I carry magic which is part of the fabric of this world. I am magic itself! And now they will know my wrath and they will all pay. For Darian. For Reginald. For what they did to the last family of the druid kings and queens. For the Purge. Let the fire of the last dragon rain from the sky, for I am the vengeance made flesh._

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Five chapters left :)


	78. Westerners

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arthur rules Portstown and the castle of Gedref during the siege.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King Arthur POV

The news about Modron failing to bring his father's bannermen to Gedref's side broke Arthur's heart, but he knew he ought not show it. Modron was so happy and so proud to be by his side that a hint of disappointment from the king could turn into a heavy blow to the boy's spirit.

"I am really happy to see you come," Arthur said and did something the king wasn't expected to do: he gave Modron a friendly hug.

 _He is worth dozens his father's bannermen,_ Arthur kept repeating to himself. _He had the courage to come. Although some people would call it stupidity. But they are fools. Everybody who says the borderline between courage and stupidity is thin is a fool. The borderline is thick and clear, and it's called honour._

"What is happening now?" Modron began asking feverishly. "Is Yrien attacking? Is she laying a siege? I've heard rumours Rion had arrived himself and...'

"Rumours," Owaine pointed. "Rion is likely to be hiding behind his mother's skirts now. He is nowhere to be seen in the camp, he sent Sir Leon to command it."

"Sir Leon? Commander of the knights?" Modron cheeks were red as though he had taken some personal offense. "He dares send Arthur's own Commander of the Knights and pin him against his rightful king?!"

_The boy's bold. And with a tongue that speaks whatever he thinks is worth speaking. I best keep him out of negotiations._

From the hill of Lord Sei's towerhouse Arthur could see the cobbled streets of Portstown and the mists spreading over the Merchant's Bay, the mists burning away in the fire of dawn. The break of day made this place most beautiful, and there was something breathtaking about the view of the shadow-casting castle of Gedref nested on the rock to the east. Arthur could see roofs of houses descending into the quay, stone bridges built over some of those houses, merchant domes and towers of highborn lords and ladies and envoys of Gawant and Deorham.

They stopped to let passage for the butcher's cart where three little piglets were squealing in distress. The butcher was hurrying, and Arthur could foresee he'd price those piglets twice as expensive as he had done the previous week. _Siege is suffering for some and profits for others. I must order Lord Sei to watch the prices. When people hear my decree being read at markets and squares, will they panic? Will the prices rise because I ordered the magic ban to be lifted?_

Owaine jumped away as he tried to avoid being spattered as some woman emptied a pail of night soul from a window overhead. Lord Sei's nephew was following them, too.

"Sir Darmund," Arthur said, climbing his horse. "Will you please give the honor of hostage to Sir Modron?"

"To Modron?" Darmund certainly didn't look like he was eager to let Modron do his job. "Why him?"

"Portstown needs a leader to help the city through the siege. Much as I respect your uncle, you are younger, stronger and well-loved by the townspeople. I want them to see you commanding defenses and inspiring people's confidence"

That did flatter Sir Darmund, who scratched his ginger beard before nodding.

"Besides, Modron is more valuable to me as a hostage," Arthur continued to explain as they started riding toward the city gates. "See, he is believed to be dead, just like me. He is believed to be slain in the forest of Brechfa during my patrol mission. If Camelot knights are able to glimpse at him, to see that he is not dead, that he is neither a wraith nor some other creature of magic, but a lad of blood and flesh, then they... they will be more likely to understand that I'm no wraith either."

"I see," Darmun nodded. "That's very wise, your majesty."

"Modron, do you mind?"

"Not at all, your majesty," Modron said proudly.

_He is too eager to make up for failing to bring his father's army. He will do anything it takes._

***

Horses were whickering impatiently behind Arthur as he rode through the city gates with blue cloaks of one hundred of Portstown soldiers behind his back. One hundred riders were hard to assemble, and horses were not so easy to find and saddle, but Arthur knew he had to show all the strength he had in order to make Yrien's soldiers believe they could not hope to find an easy victory if they intended to storm the walls. Owaine and Modron were dressed in their battle armors and looked as knightly as any soldier in the enemy's camp.

Arthur could see Sir Leon banners flying when the horsemen appeared from the pale-grey mass of tent cloths spread in the greenery of the fields. Arthur recognized the banners of House Gribs and House Dwynton, both sworn to the Gingawaines, house Ian and House Wynau, sworn to the catle of Woodspeak ruled by Lord Chefyl, Ryence's Gingawaine's most trusted bannerman. King Arthur's banners looked no less impressive. House Gedref, House Pellinore, House Sei and House Rysor, all behind the golden banner of House Pendragon.

The great lords of Midlands or their heirs were coming up the road to Portstown, and much as Arthur wanted to regard them as a part of insignificant army, he knew this army would turn into a mortal fist once Vyda Gaheris joined them.

Arthur kicked the horse when they passed the arrow of honor that marked the line past which Yrien's host was strognly advised not to approach. When Sir Leon saw Arthur's party coming, he spurred his own mount and rode faster beneath the rippling banner.

Sir Leon looked just like Arthur expected he would. Tall, with the hair the color of wheat bathed in summer rain, Sir Leon would sit his horse as though he had been born in the saddle. He chose not to wear a helmet.

When their horses stopped with good feet of distance between them, Arthur smiled as he looked in the eyes of his father's commander of the knights.

"Sir Leon," he said loudly. "Be welcome. As the King of Camelot, I welcome you and send you greetings of townspeople of Portstown."

Sir Leon's lords looked grim, their eyes radiated malice and readiness to spill blood in the gutters, but Sir Leon was amiably confused, it couldn't escape Arthur's sight. His thin eyebrows were dancing above his small eyes.

"This creature talks," one of Sir Leon's companios noticed. "Can magic work such wonders?"

"The only wonder explained by magic here is your ability to talk with as little wits as can be found about you, shithead," Modron said, and the offended lord's hand jerked and reached for the hilt of this sword. _Modron will ruin all the talks unless I..._

 _"_ My lords," Arthur said. "Please permit me to acquaint you with Modron of House Pellinore. You must forgive his sharp tongue, he just can't stand it when somebody calls his king a creature. Can't blame him for that, can we?"

"I see no king here," Lord Chefyl spat, looking at Arthur as though he was a piece of ratshit. "Only a work of magic, and a coward hiding behind the walls and preying on the dark force of the Labyrinth of Gedref. Worry not. You are not the first magical scum of a thing to try and climb Camelot throne. We had a troll who wanted to rule our kingdom earlier this year."

_Does he actually believe what he is saying? Can't he see I am a man, and not some creature of magic?_

"We can stand here trading insult for half a day," Lord Rysor said, unamused by the prospects of blood shed beneath peace banners. "Or we can swap hostages and continue the talks as befits our rank."

"And who do you offer?" Lord Chefyl asked, eyeing Lord Rysor suspiciously.

"Myself, Lord Sei and Modron of House Pellinore," Lord Rysor announced. "For your commander."

It sounded like a fair treaty: the rebels were offering Lord of the besieged town, the only bannerman who had come to answer the rebels' call and the supposedly dead heir of Nemeton in exchange for Sir Leon. It didn't take them long to consider.

"We return the hostages upon the first light on the morrow," Arthur said. "With messages for their respective lieges."

Before long, they were returning to Portstown, and Sir Leon looked nervous and lost.

"Leon, please tell me that you were not so dumb as to believe all those silly kitchen tales. You see that I am no wraith, don't you?"

Leon turned away and kicked his horse. _The truth is hard to swallow. If he accepts that I am really me, he will also have to accept that he had served the usurpers._

Sir Leon was searched, stripped off all the weapons and offered a special room in the gatehouse, where Arthur chose to speak with him face to face, despite Owaine's protests.

"Leon," Arthur began, visibly relieved to have been left alone with his fellow knight of Camelot. "Leon, this is really me."

Leon looked as tensed as a muscled spear, and refused to sit down, choosing to stay by the hearth and face his former prince.

"How do you prove it?" he asked. "Lady Katrina, too, looked like Lady Katrina. But she turned out to be a troll. And Lady Helen turned out to be a witch that was impersonating Lady Helen. I saw your body brought to the castle."

"And how did I look?" Arthur laughed. "Was there some peculiar detail about my corpse?"

"This...it... your face..."

"Was probably mutilated to the point that prevented people from looking at it," Arthur concluded easily. "Goddess, Leon, they just killed some fair-haired lad and smashed his face with a hammer. That is disgusting."

"This can't... can't be... Ryence was... King Ryence was... a famed warrior, he..."

"...had a lot of reasons to hate my father, if you ask me," Arthur helped him. "My father broke the marriage pact they had agreed upon many years ago after the Battle of Ashes. My father was meant to marry Lady Yrien, and he didn't. My father turned Brechfa into a territory of Camelot, destroying the sovereignty of Midlands."

"What you're suggesting is monstrosity. To think that a warrior like Ryence would plot with... whoever he should have plotted with to... achieve all these...results... He was a warrior, he could've challenged Uther to a single combat and..."

"Ryence was dreadfully old," Arthur reminded him.

"He could've challenged Uther to a single combat any time! Why wait so many years after the battle of ashes?" Leon asked, confused.

"Because Rion was nearing sixteen years. Rion is his nephew and his only heir. Sixteen is the age when people step into marriage and heir rights. Ryence wanted to make his nephew heir to the throne of Camelot."

For a moment it appeared that Leon's eyes flashed with enlightenment, but then he gathered his voice into a defensive tone:

"You speak words, but your words can be the work of dark arts. Like those that made Lady Helen and Lady Katr..."

"I have not come here to try and convince you that I am indeed who I am and who I have always been," Arthur's anger was suddenly boiling in his veins. _This is so stupid_. "I am the rightful king of Camelot and I do not beg for recognition. I have brought you letters. When we exchange you for me bannermen on the morrow, I want you to deliver these letters to your queen regent. This is from princess Mithian of Nemeth. She is our honorable guest in the castle of Gedref now. Tell your queen that an act of war against Gedref will mean an act of war against Kingdom of Nemeth."

Horror made Leon's eyes wide when Arthur handed him the envelope bearing Princess Mithian's seal. _If he tries to say that the seal is not genuine..._

"This," Arthur pointed at another sealed envelope. "is the letter from Modron of House Pellinore. An act of war on Gedref will mean an act of war against the territory of Nemeton as well. Yesterday Lord Cynric sailed to Gawant. As you happen to know, I am betrothed to princess Elen and I am sure King Godwin will support my cause as well," Arthur lied.

"Cynric?!" Leon exclaimed. "He is serving you now?"

"He turned out to be the most faithful of all my father's councilors," Arthur nodded. "Leon, I beg you. For the love you bear to this kingdom, for all the honors you've earned while serving as my father's Commander of the Knights. You've helped me to my knighthood. You've seen my triumphs and my failures at the training field. It pains me to see such an honorable man betray his duties and serve the usurper. I am the rightful king, yet I beg you: withdraw your troops. Or there will be blood."

 _Whose blood,_ _though_ , Arthur thought as he stormed out of the room.

***

That night, Arthur dreamed of Merlin trapped in some cave, unable to find his way out. He woke up from the sensation of being strangled, and rushed to the balcony to draw in some fresh air. The garden was ever serene, half-masked by the pre-dawn shadows, but something seemed oddly strange about the crawling morning. _Seagulls_. _They are silent._

The knock on the door came as another wicked omen.

“Come in!”

Owaine's hair were a mess, and there were lines left by the pillow on his swollen morning face, but his eyes were woken.

"Arthur, a ship from Gawant arrived earlier," Owaine announced.

"Gawant?" Arthur pulled up his breeches, trying to hide the sight of his roused manhood. "Is Cynric returned?"

"No, not Cynric. Nentres Gaheris."

 _My great uncle. Vyda's younger son._ Arthur's heart threatened to collapse any moment. _Is he here to discuss peace or war?_

"Where is he?"

"In the throne room. Waiting for you. Arthur, he told..."

"I shall talk to him myself. Rouse the servants to fetch us some wine and anything to break our fast. Do it yourself, if need be. Be quick about it!"

Arthur grabbed his sword belt _. I must not come to him unarmed. I will show him, show him I am ready to fight. And crown. Oh, here it is. Seven shining gems and a band of gold. Where's my red Camelot cloak?_

The morning castle was as good as empty. Lord Rysor, Lord Sei and Modron remained hostages in Yrien's camp, while Darmund was ruling Portstown. Princess Mithian was the only person except for Owaine, Arthur, the castellan and the librarian in the castle of Gedref. The servants were still asleep in their Keep, and even Nentres Gaheris, a man slightly older than forty years, looked lonely and short of company when Arthur opened the doors of the throne room.

"Uncle!" Arthur couldn't help but smile.

Nentres was not his uncle, he was his great uncle, cousin to Uther Pendragon, but Arthur would always call him uncle. Vyda Gaheris had two sons, but Safir seldom visited the castle of Camelot - he was the heir to Daobeth and would devote most of his time to governing the territory, entrusting his younger brother Nentres with trips to Camelot.

Nentres Gaheris did carry a western look. He had a face as lean as the stony rock and a mean gleam frozen in his eyes. Unlike Safir, who took after Uther staggeringly, Nentres looked more like his mother, a hungry hound waiting for a hunter to call him forth.

"I wager you are surprised to see me arrive in such unexpected fashion?" his voice was as dry as his face. "I sailed from Inkwave. I'm afraid the soldiers that have laid siege to Portstown and your castle would not promise me and my guards safe conduct."

_Inkwave. He was in the capital of Gawant._

"I'm hardly surprised, uncle! I used the same way to arrive at the castle of Gedref," Arthur approached Nentres for a dutiful family embrace. Nentres smelled of sea.

"Have you arrived by boat?"

"No. By ship."

"Where did you come from?" Nentres asked, curious. "Well, they say you came back from the spirit world, but now that I see you're all blood and flesh and as far from looking like a wraith... What a foolish way to blacken your name. My mother looks more like a wraith than you."

_And smells like a wraith, too. I hope you haven't brought Vyda Gaheris with you._

"I was in Nemeth. You must forgive my manners, uncle. Please, follow me."

As Arthur was leading Nentres into the dining hall, his great uncle was moving swiftly, as though afraid to stir the silence of the corridors with the echoes of his steps.

"Nemeth? Pray tell, what were you doing there, Arthur? How did you end up taking this castle?"

"I didn't _take_ it. Sir Owaine took it for me. They didn't need much to rise against the crown, to be honest. The history of their tidings with Camelot crown is strained. King Reginald was likely murdered by his own nephews Agravaine and Tristan so that Agravaine could become King of Seaside Kingdom and marry my mother to my father and avoid war after joining Camelot. Reginald's son, Ollwen, died while fighting beasts of Sigan in Camelot. And his wife was arrested on false charges of treason. And Ollwen's son, Owaine, was nearly shot by Ryence's assassins in the forest of Brechfa. It was dry wood, I tell you. One spark of flame enough to set the whole place on fire."

Arthur was happy to see wine and cheese and bread served, but the meals didn't fit the splendor of the long dining table. Nothing seemed to fit the splendor of the castle of Gedref.

"I'm sorry for the modest table, uncle, but we don't know how long the siege will last and we try to spare food."

"Food is the last thing on my mind, Arthur," Nentres said as he got seated in the carved chair. "To see you alive is almost a miracle. To think of all that happened... And of what might have happened... Arthur, do you know the news?"

"What news? There seems to be so much news as of late."

_And no news about Merlin._

"Vidor was murdered in Camelot."

_What?! Has Yrien taken leave of her senses?_

"How did it happen, uncle?!"

"Murdered on the day that followed Rion's coronation. They've put a pup on the throne and let the bitch rule in his stead. She murdered Vidor at his own betrothal feast."

_This can't be happening in Camelot. Hosts do not slaughter guests at betrothal feasts. This is wrong, terribly wrong._

"He was my nephew, but as close to me as a son," Nentres said in a grievous tone.

"And where is your son, uncle? Where's Caridoc? Where's uncle Safir?"

"In the castle of Denaria, I assume," Nentres shrugged. "The funny thing is that both, my son and my brother were traveling to the castle of Camelot when they learnt the news about Vidor."

"What is funny about it?"

"They were invited to the castle by Queen Regent. So far as we understood, she wanted to use the western army to deal with Gedref rebellion, but also wanted to keep my brother and my son as hostages so that we didn't think of marching elsewhere after smashing this rebellion."

_He's honest with me._

"And you agreed?"

"Of course we did. We swore fealty to the crown. Besides, there was no indication that would make us believe that it was really _you_ behind these deeds."

"The letter had my seal."

"Seals can be feigned. Arthur, after what happened to Vidor... We have nothing linking us to Camelot throne now."

_Goddess, what a relief! Leon's host is useless! They will never, never, never get aid from Vyda Gaheris now, and the numbers Leon had brought do not permit him to storm the walls!_

"I understand uncle Safir intends to avenge Queen Regent for the death of his son now?"

"Would you act differently? Safir will take time, but his response will see the end of House Gingawaine. If it were for our mother to decide, Vyda would've been at the gates of the castle of Camelot already."

_And Camelot would be flooded with blood, and Vyda Gaheris would bathe in it._

"The small folk have naught to do with it, uncle," Arthur warned him carefully.

"The small folk will not suffer if Rion has the courage to ride out into a single combat."

_And you think his mother will just stand and watch her son of sixteen ride into the single combat against Safir Gaheris?_

"Uncle, you've just called Rion a pup and yet you expect him to act like a hound. If Queen Regent has a shaft of wits left, she will start raising an army in Midlands while safely locked behind the walls of the castle of Camelot."

"That's why we need to act quickly, Arthur, and we need you at our side. This is the time for our family to unite and act as one. Arthur, we both have the blood of Mountain Kings in our veins," Nentres said, pushing the goblet with wine away.

_How good of you to remember it. Did you think about this common blood when you agreed to smash Gedref rebellion?_

"How can I be of use, uncle? You've seen me. I'm trapped in the castle of Gedref. Portstown is surrounded by Queen's men. There are no less than five hundred people at the walls. Sixty of them - my knights, the knights I've trained with. They all believe I am a wraith. Our reports suggest Lord Gloss of Chemary will bring up to three hundred more men when he arrives. His bannermen have answered to his call. House Fethog. House Nyth. House Wygos."

"Do you have any hope here?" Nentres tried to make his question dry of any emotion, be it hope or despair.

"Well, Portstown has thick walls and men which can be armed to guard these walls."

_I shall not tell him about four hundred men that may come from Nemeton once Lord Bors arrives to save his heir. Now what of him?_

"And how fairs your own rebellion, uncle? Am I right to understand that we're both considered enemies of the crown now?"

"We raised an army when we received order from your father. When Cenred's soldiers invaded Brechfa. We were always loyal to Uther, you know we were."

_Too loyal when it came to killing druid children. And too stupid to not see that Cenred’s invasion was faked. Well, we were all stupid._

"We've raised more than two thousand swords. Daobeth, Denaria and Landshire have used one out of ten rule in every village. If they try to gather more men, they will start ruining the households."

"And what about Asgorath?" Arthur inquired, having noticed Nentres forget to mention the richest western territory's name. "What? Don't tell me Lord Catigern is too old to favor war. By the fierceness of his hunting trips, one could think he'd lead men into battle himself."

"Arthur, Lord Catigern is dead. _I_ am Lord of Asgorath now."

_Interesting. So is Lord Catigern dead or murdered?_

"How did old Catigern die?"

"Rockslide. Killed him and Lord Accolon, your father's councilor of war."

_More interesting._

"Uncle, forgive me, but on what rights have you assumed the lordship of Asgorath?"

"I have a royal decree signed by King Ryence. His brief reign did bring some benefits for our house. May he find peace into the spirit world."

"May he find peace into the spirit world," Arthur repeated, even though he wished Ryence got lost on the way. "So. You're rightfully the Lord of Asgorath. The decree gives every appearance of being genuine."

"Of course it is genuine. But now that the kingdom is in turmoil, there are those who place no value in paper."

Arthur took little time to guess. Asgorath was the only land except Brechfa with multiple castles.

"The castle of Wheelskirt?"

"Aye. The castle of Wheelskirt," Nentres reached for wine after pronouncing the castle's name. "Taught me once more to put no trust in women when it comes to ruling. Lady Reft never responded to Uther's call when he demanded to raise two thousand swords in the West. She didn't lend a single soldier. Old Catigern ignored her behaviour, for he was charmed by Lady Reft's cunt. But I am not lord Catigern."

"Have many lords sided with her?"

"All those who hold villages close to the border with Gawant. All the so-called merchant lords. It was a mistake to grant them lands in the first place. House Feyd. House Annaid. House Neh. House Achod. They all joined Lady Reft's defiance. They refuse to go to any war."

"How many men can Lady Reft raise?"

"Seven hundred or so."

"That's a lot."

"Asgorath is a vast land, Arthur. The castle of Wheelskirt and its town alone have five thousand residents. Lady Reft owns ten more villages and Gods only know how many settlements. Make no mistake, if I want, I'll find a way to raise seven hundred more men, too. Lady Reft has wealthy bannermen, but I have more. House Erlog, House Ladau, House Saer, House Wysog, House Liwir and House Fynys - they all declared for me. So yes, I can raise seven hundred more men and teach Lady Reft a lesson of swords, but I can't be busy with putting unruly bannerwoman in her place after my nephew was murdered at his own betrothal feast in Camelot."

"But if Lady Reft decides to storm the castle of Asgorath while you're warring Queen Regent..."

"Lady Reft will not storm the castle of Asgorath. I was in Inkwave to discuss the betrothal. After Vidor's murder, Safir has one son left, and if King Godwin agrees, Eric will marry princess Elena."

_Cynric will not succeed winning Gawant to our side._

"I was betrothed to her, too," Arthur remarked.

"King Godwin doesn't know you're alive, Arthur, you can't blame him. Don't hold it against us, too. If betrothal does take place, Lady Reft will realize King of Gawant has recognized our House's authority over Asgorath, and all her pitiful lords that own villages close to border with Gawant will flee to our side. But these matters can wait until the war is done."

"You call it war?"

"And what would you call it?" Nentres responded with a sorrowful smile. "Arthur. I hold much power now. House Gaheris, House Gornemant, Galla Dindrane of Denaria, House Sagramore... They can all recognize you as Uther's heir now. We can verify your identity and align to restore you to the throne."

_He hasn't mentioned the Blanchefleurs._

"Aren't great houses of Gornemant and Sagramore supposed to be in the castle of Camelot?"

"They fled soon after Vidor's murder."

"Who's left in Camelot then?"

"The Dindranes. The Lamoraks. And Yrien's court from Brechfa."

"What a grim company."

"Arthur," Nentres cleared his throat. "Please. I've come to ask for your support now. Allow us to break the siege and then side with us. Your name and your presence among us... Once the realm learns you have been assassinated by the Gingawaines, even their bannermen will leave their side. If Castle of Chemary joins us after they learn the rightful heir of Camelot lives, we can capture the castle of Brechfa. Lord Gloss will attack from the east. I shall lead troops from the West. You will attack from the south. Without castle of Brechfa, Yrien will be as good as beheaded."

_Does she deserve to be beheaded, though? Only a trial can tell._

"Even without castles of Chemary and Brechfa, Yrien would still hold Camelot and Woodspeak. That's some thousand and five hundred swords."

"We would be outnumbering her three to one and attacking from all flanks."

Arthur watched the dim grey sky cast murky light in the goblet of red wine. When the pause became uncomfortably long, he spoke.

"If I agree to join you, uncle, you will make me king of Camelot?"

"The throne is yours by rights," Nentres nodded.

"Will you agree to lift the ban on magic?"

Nentres's arm jerked and the goblet with wine fell on the floor and smashed to pieces.

"What?!"

"Magic," Arthur repeated. "Magic was banned in Camelot. Those who practised magic were punished. There was but one punishment."

"As there should be. Death."

"Will you agree to change it? Will you agree to let people practice magic?"

Nentres looked around as though he needed someone else to prove his doubts wrong.

"Arthur, are you japing? The moment's ill for japes and..."

"I am not japing, uncle. I've asked you a question."

"Lift the ban on magic? Have you gone mad?"

_Without Merlin? Maybe._

"I have not. I hope"

"Arthur, what is this queer notion? Where does it come from? What have you seen?"

"I have seen that magic is not evil. That it is the same as sword. It can be used to protect innocent and loved ones and help people who got into trouble. It can also serve those who seek power and want submit others to their will with violence."

"Whatever planted these ideas into your head... How can it come from you, Arthur? You mother was killed with magic..."

"She was not."

"Mad!" Nentres rose to his feet and backed off. "You've gone mad! Arthur, listen to yourself! What would your father say?!"

"Oh, I've actually talked to him recently. He was dead and told me I was an awful king."

"Insane!" Nentres clutched his own heart. "You've gone... insane! You've suffered from this... assassination... Arthur, I pity you... Who..."

"MY LORD!" Owaine rushed into the room. "WE ARE ATTACKED!"

Arthur and Nentres exchanged puzzled looks and followed Owaine onto the terrace from which the view of Portstown was as clear as the mists permitted. Arthur could see Yrien's camp sleeping.

"I see no new footmen," he said, gasping for breath.

"It's not footmen, Arthur! Look! The sea! There are ships! Dozens of them. King Odin's sigil on the sails! And Alined's pirates!.. They are approaching, Arthur, they will sack Portstown!"

Arthur turned south and saw them - emerging from the milky mists liked ghosts, warships. _Well, it turns out Odin still wants to bid high price for my head, even though Rodor couldn't deliver me to him_.

"Uncle," Arthur said, turning to Nentres and trying to keep whatever bravery that was left in his heart. "If you fear for your safety, you better sail back to Gawant and be quick about it." 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Four chapters left!


	79. Battle of the Merchant's Bay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It is not Queen Yrien who is the first to try and bring Arthur down. King Odin and King Alined bring their armada to sack Portstown, knowing that the city can only be attacked from the sea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King Arthur POV

_This has to be a nightmare,_ King Arthur thought. _I must wake up and see all the sails disappear in the mist from where they had come._ Arthur couldn't tell whether it was hopelessness or insanity that kept him on the terrace: for a moment, he did stare outside as though he believed that blinking would help him make the ships vanish. Uncle Nentres was breathing heavily, his chest was rising as though the man had run leagues dressed in armor and carrying a shield on his back. _He is as afraid as me. He didn't know about this attack, otherwise he wouldn't have sailed._

"You best leave now, uncle. I am sure you'll find a boat to take you to Portstown in Dragon's Jaws," Arthur said.

"And what is it you plan, Arthur? Do you wish to fight this armada? With what, pray tell? Fishing boats?" Nentres sounded as though he didn't remember a word from their verbal duel. "Arthur, I beg you, for the love you bear to your family, go with me. Once we deal with the Gingawaines, we shall destroy these intruders and take Portstown back! The castle of Gedref will withstand the siege and..."

"I meant every word I said," Arthur made a step forward, forcing his uncle to retreat. _You may be famed, but your skill is half as sharp as your sword, uncle_. "Unless you agree to lift the ban on magic, we can't form an alliance. And I don't mean to flee now. People in Portstown... they are my people! I will share their fate even if..."

"Your people have _no_ fate, how can't you see it?!" Nentres tone was pleading. "Your reign will end if you stay, Arthur!"

_Why, uncle, it seems without Merlin my reign was doomed from the very start._

"You should leave now, while you still can," Arthur repeated, treating Nentres with the fiercest look before he marched away. Owaine was so pale it appeared he had eaten something bad for breakfast, while the castellan looked close to a heart attack. Of all people, princess Mithian seemed the only one to keep something composed about her look.

"How many warships?" Arthur asked nervously as they hurried along the gallery to the drum tower.

"We've counted more than twenty," Owaine said.

"How many, I asked," Arthur's eyes flashed with fury. "More than twenty is too indefinite. Owaine, is it bloody hard to count ships?"

"What difference does it make?" Princess Mithian jumped to Owaine's defense. "Any number above ten means the destruction of Portstown. There are seventy soldiers aboard each ship."

Arthur hated the numbers, he hated facts and figures, for they all seemed aligned in a cold-hearted objective epitaph of his short reign. _Twenty ships that brought down Arthur Pendragon. I should have bloody let King Rodor sell me to Odin._

Arthur nearly jumped onto the drum tower watch square, overtaking everybody as he ran up the winding staircase. The mist was thick and somewhat wrong; it had concealed the approach of enemy's fleet for far too long. Now, all measures seemed useless and short of time to carry them out. _People. Me people. They are my people._

"How can we protect the most defenseless ones against Odin and Alined?" Arthur demanded, and for the first time there was something despotic to be distinguished about his tone. Whoever spoke had to offer some sort of solution. _Or keep silence unless he wants to lose his tongue._

"We must evacuate women and children," princess Mithian spoke softly, trying to recover her own breath after the brisk climb.

"And how would we do that, my lady?" Owaine asked. "We can't let them leave the town! There is Queen Yrien's host waiting for them outside the walls. They risk being slaughtered!"

"We can't move them outside the city walls, my lord, but we can use all boats at our disposal and carry as many children and women to the castle as possible," Princess Mithian proposed.

"That can do," Owaine nodded. "The castle is..."

"Quiet! Sh..." Arthur hissed. "You heard it?"

"Heard what?"

Arthur was sure he had heard it. A thunder. There was a thunder, a boom, an echo of some heavy nature's cry in the air, but the sky had no storm, it was calm and quiet in its greyness. _What is it?_

The next moment, they all heard it - a distant whisper of anger in the sky, as loud as a muffled thunder, but of different, unexplainable origins. _Something is wrong about it_.

Arthur looked at the southern horizon, the one wrapped in the thick veil of mists. _Is Odin working some magic? Is he using some magic to conjure these mists? Is it this magic that's roaring in the air?_

Owaine looked troubled. Portstown was so weak to the attack form the sea that the city couldn't hope to withstand the fleet itself, let alone the magic weapons Odin could have carried. Arthur pricked his ears, but the noise was unmistakable: it was some music sung by horror, might and beauty at the same time, something as ancient as the roar of the sea waves, the howling of the wind and the drums of the rainfall. Something ancient and elemental of its own song, the song that outdid them all.

"GODDESS!" Mithian shrieked pointing at the sky.

Arthur turned around, and his life left him for a moment. _It_ was there, skimming along the grey skies as the vessel of destruction and sorrow, the curse of all curses, the red wings of death herself.

 _A dragon._ Its wings were flapping in the wind, its roars were getting louder, and there could be no mistake that he was coming for them. _To finish what he hadn't finished in Camelot_ , Arthur thought. T _o see me gone. To repay me for the wound I delivered to him._

_I die in screams and fear, or I die as nobly as a warrior. I know my choice._

The dragon's shadow crossed the outskirts of Yrien's camp without losing a fraction of its speed, and Arthur glimpsed, to his own horror, the spread wings of the creature over the peaceful silhouette of Portstown.

The dragon didn't stop for Portstown, though. He flew on, his wings moving so mighty that they were stirring waves that followed his figure across the water sheets of the bay.

It was a scream of the force that seemed to be trapped inside the beast but was desperately striving to find the ways outside and express itself. The roar of the dragon made time and space melt in the wildest dance of magic, and before long, Arthur saw the sky blacken as the dragon breathed flames that cut through a couple of Odin's and Alined's warships like fire sword through logs.

The beast could not clench its thirst, and soon the fire sword turned into a fire wall, the hell itself raining on the warships and sails. Arthur could see tiny burning figures of sailsmen and soldiers jumping into waters, crying and shrieking and begging for mercy and salvation, both unknown to the red dragon.

Mithian and Owaine were silent. None of them dared to leave, none of them dared to ask what and why was happening. All they cared about was the scene of unparalleled horror, the disaster few could ever hope to behold as dozens of Odin's and Alined's warships were perishing from fire on the sheets of the Merchant's Bay.

"It's coming back," Owaine whispered.

Indeed it was. The dragon, having sliced through the center of the armada, leaving fire and death in his wake, began to gain height and looked like turning left to make another circle. _Or pick another target._

"Get down," Arthur commanded. "Take cover. I've seen what it's capable of, and..."

The dragon's flight was raising waves all over the bay, and just when Arthur couldn't expect anything worse to happen, the blackened sky erupted with flashes of silver lightnings that hit the warships of Odin and Alined. Mithian screamed and threw herself into Owaine's arms.

Meanwhile, the dragon was flying their way, Arthur could sense it. He felt so afraid he was ashamed. When the creature was flying past the drum tower, to his uttermost horror, Arthur glimpsed the ugly truth.

The creature was mounted. It had a rider. _Merlin_ was commanding this dragon.

Was it Merlin? He didn't look like _his_ Merlin. His eyes had the beastly rage, there was some stick in his right hand, he was... Naked and inhuman, he was the might and power made flesh, but his eyes were not Merlin's. _No, this can't be true_ , Arthur thought as he cursed and raced to the edge of the drum tower to scream Merlin's name at the top of his lungs. When he did, the dragon's rider turned to Arthur and their eyes met, and Arthur felt something ache in his chest, and suddenly, Merlin's features became.... The way Arthur remembered them. The way Arthur loved them. The way Arthur missed them. The way Arthur guarded them in his memory.

He noticed something happen to the dragon as he changed its course abruptly and began to circle around the castle, looking for a place to land in the garden. Arthur pushed past Owaine and started running down the staircase.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> three chapters left :)


	80. King and His Warlock

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur reunite at the castle of Gedref

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> King Arthur POV

King Arthur was running. _Can it be true? Can it be?_ Past the gallery, into the Right Wing, through the throne room. _Can it be true? Has he arrived? He promised to fly, but this is... this..._

Arthur was running as fast as he had never sprinted before. Nothing could hold him back, nothing could stop him when Merlin was so close, not even the dragon beast between them...

_The dragon beast!_

Arthur stormed out of the corridor into the Alley Garden, where the red monster had already landed. The dragon was arching his neck to allow a naked figure dismount him. It was Merlin, his Merlin, trying to dismount the dragon in a clumsy manner that seemed painfully recognizable.

"Merlin!"

His servant's hand jerked and he lost balance, falling off the dragon's neck into Arthur's arms out of the grey summer morning. _In my arms, this is really him_. Arthur could feel Merlin’s weight, could touch him, could hold him… could raise his eyes to meet Merlin's. They were his eyes, Merlin's eyes, two round shields that radiated so much compassion and beauty Arthur nearly stumbled and fell when he realized he was carrying Merlin. Merlin's skin felt so hot as though he had been conjured out of fire himself, but Arthur couldn't care less: all that mattered was the tired smile on Merlin's face that transformed into a cheerful grin when their looks met. And his smell, Merlin smelled of chamomile and night rain, the smell that drove Arthur crazy with desire to plant as many kisses as he could on Merlin’s neck.

Ages seemed to have passed since the bright summer day of early July, when Arthur bid Merlin goodbye and promised it was not a farewell, and now his chest was burning with pride of being able to keep that promise.

"Arthur!" Merlin whispered as he threw his arms around Arthur's neck.

The dragon shook his head and eyed them curiously. The dragon. Dragon. Dragon, dragon, dragon.

"FUCK ME BACKWARDS, HE'S A DRAGONLORD!" Arthur heard Owaine shout.

Owaine and Mithian caught up with him and ran into the garden, too. The dragon's heavy gaze turned from Arthur and Merlin to Owaine and Mithian.

"Goddess he is naked," Owaine chuckled when he saw Arthur in his rippling red cloak with naked Merlin in his arms. "Princess, don’t look!"

"Why?" Mithian snorted. "You reckon I don’t know there is something hanging between the legs of you boys?"

Arthur put Merlin on the ground carefully. Merlin seemed as weightless as the summer breeze.

"Owaine, take a boat to Portstown," Arthur commanded. "Speak to people. Tell them the dragon is of no danger. Princess... if you excuse me."

Arthur took his cloak off and covered Merlin in the Pendragon cloth.

"You go with me," he said. "Wrap yourself. That's my cloak."

Merlin followed Arthur wordlessly.

"Who is that?" Arthur heard Mithian's voice as they were about to leave the garden.

"That’s Arthur’s servant," Owaine replied, confused.

"You don’t really mean it?!" Mithian voice was soaked with disbelief.

"Oh, yes, I do. Bloody hell, can you see the dragon?"

***

The dragon was not on Arthur's mind. The dragon did not matter, the dragon was insignificant, for it was now clear to him that the dragon depended on Merlin. How great was the temptation to pull Merlin into another embrace and kiss him, no, feast on those red-red lips, but the faint smell of wood decayed in fire carried from the bay reminded Arthur too much of the nights when he could do nothing to save hundreds of people in the Lower Town from the attack, and the questions were bitter, but they had to be asked. He led Merlin along the corridor, up the staircase and shoved him into his chambers.

"Arthur!" Merlin said, stung by Arthur's rawness.

"That night people died in Camelot," Arthur told him coldly, not looking into Merlin's eyes. "Hundreds. I helped to burry some of them. Did you have anything to do with it?"

"Yes."

Merlin's response betrayed everything. _He knew I would be asking questions_. _He knew, he was ready, it was the thing he had been hiding from me, another one of his secrets, even though he told me, told me in the garden in the dreamworld, he told me there were no secrets left and..._ Merlin's honesty was brute.

"What exactly did you have to do with it?"

"I set the dragon free," Merlin said in a sad soft voice, his face so solemn it would appear it would never be again brightened by that grin of his.

"Why did you do that?"

"It was a part of the bargain we’ve struck."

_Bargain? Had he been in contact with this dragon for long?_

"Go on. Tell me about that _bargain_."

If there was one unexpected thing about Merlin's behaviour, it was the freezing attitude Merlin was giving him. Merlin, whose eyes would be filled with tears whenever he'd see a stray on the street of the Lower Town, remained so immune to crying now that Arthur was beginning to worry.

"Remember the attack of Medihr knights?" Merlin asked. "When we were falling asleep?"

"Yes."

_How can I ever forget fighting the deadly knights while losing my energy with every second._

"You asked me what took me so long when I went to look for Gaius’s remedy. I visited the dragon. Asked him what could be done to save us from the knights of Medihr."

"Why would you ask a dragon?" Arthur frowned.

"He saved us both a great deal of times."

"And he did that because..."

"Because Kilgharrah thought you were meant to be the man to unite the lands of Albion. And I was to help you because you had many threats coming from your foes and friends alike."

_Kilgharrah. The dragon has a name._

"To hell with that!" Arthur slammed his fist against the wall. "So?! You went to the dragon to ask for help?!"

"He agreed to help me only if I swore to free him. I swore with my mother’s life. He told me that the sleeping spell Morgause has cast couldn’t work on its own; it needed a source, a living vessel to keep it going. You know who this vessel is."

"Morgana," Arthur gasped in horror as his stomach turned into stone. _She was the only person to not have fallen asleep._

"So the dragon said," Merlin nodded, and his lower lip began to twitch, and he started blinking _much too often._ "He told me that to stop the spell, the source had to be eradicated. I asked her why she hadn’t fallen asleep. Asked her why the knights wouldn’t hurt her. I thought she was not surprised it was Morgause... I saw you go out of the hall and I couldn’t help but think of how terrible it would be to lose you... I... poisoned, I poisoned her."

"Merlin," Arthur whispered.

"The instant I did, Morgause rushed into the room. She started threatening me, told me I was nothing but a simple servant and would do as she commanded. She demanded the poison I’ve used so that she could save Morgana. I told her that she needed to stop the attack first. She told me I would give her the poison or die. I was ready to die, but I warned her Morgana would die with me," Merlin's voice was rising higher and higher.

"Merlin..."

"She stopped the attack. I gave her the poison. You rushed back into the hall..."

"I remember the knights fall dead as though by command," Arthur said, recalling the sense of tremendous relief.

"Later that night I freed the dragon. I swore an oath. I meant to keep it," tears were rolling down Merlin's cheeks.

_I won't be bought with tears._

"If you can command this creature, why didn’t you stop the attack in Camelot? You could have saved hundreds of people!"

"I COULDN’T!" Merlin shouted, and Arthur stepped back, afraid to see the same rage that swallowed Merlin eyes when he was mounting the dragon. But the eyes remained Merlin's. "I HAD NO POWER TO COMMAND THE DRAGON WHEN THE ATTACK BEGAN! DON’T THINK THAT I DIDN’T CURSE MYSELF EVERY DAY FOR DOING IT! DON’T THINK THAT I WASN’T READY TO TRADE MY LIFE FOR THEIRS! DON’T, DON’T, DON’T!"

"Merlin," Arthur felt guilty for somehow pushing Merlin over the dangerous age, and he wanted to...

"THE DRAGONLORD GIFT PASSES FROM FATHER TO SON!” Merlin’s voice was hoarse from screaming. “ONLY ONCE THE FATHER’S DEAD CAN HIS SON COMMAND A DRAGON," Merlin said, sinking to his knees and crying as he attempted to grab his own knees.

"But the dragonlord, the dragonlo... That man in... Merlin! That’s why you cried in the forest! That man was... he was your father?!

Arthur turned around and walked away. He needed motion, needed air, needed physical activity, he needed something to tear it down and let all his fury leave his trembling arms. _He lied to me about killing the dragon. I didn’t even hurt him_ , Arthur thought when he passed Kilgharrah, who was sitting in the garden.

Arthur was standing on the terrace, watching the leftovers of Odin's and Alined's fleet burn red and orange on the grey waters of Merchant's Bay. There were tiny dots visible, surviving sailsmen and soldiers who were trying to swim out of the hell caused by dragonflames. Arthur thought he heard swords beneath the walls of Portstown, but he paid no mind to that.

_Too much. That’s too much. He poisoned Morgana because he feared for me. He saved me and my father from Medihr. He... he continued to serve me and my father even though Uther was the reason Merlin’s father, Balinor kept hiding in that cave. Merlin had to swallow tears when his own father was killed. And free the dragon because he swore an oath. And he came to me. He swore an oath and came to me. He was by my side all this time knowing Uther would have had him executed had he ever found out about magic. Oh, Merlin._

Arthur turned around and started running back to his room.

He kicked the door open and broke into his chambers, scaring Merlin to death - his servant was still on his knees, crying beside the empty hearth. When Arthur rushed in so suddenly and so fiercely, Merlin began to crawl back, as though he was afraid of some punishment, which made Arthur sick _. Does he really suspect I can hit him?_

"Come to me," Arthur said as he helped Merlin rise to his feet and fall again, but this time - into his arms. There was only one place where Merlin needed to be now, Arthur knew it, one place in the whole wide world. Arthur pressed Merlin so close to himself he was afraid he'd break his shoulders, but Merlin was clinging to him no less eagerly, and Arthur could sense Merlin's fast heartbeat against his own chest, he could feel their heartbeats unite into a single song, the song of love and devotions, adventures and dangers, magic and blades, loyalty and betrayals, assassins and dragons, of sunstone and moonstone. _You are safe with me now_. "Merlin, don’t you ever fear telling me anything. You are shuddering. Here, wrap yourself in that cloak. I gave you it, remember? My cloak. Right."

Arthur covered Merlin in Pendragon red-and-gold, and smiled at Merlin's un-protocol look.

"Arthur, they all died because of me," Merlin mouthed through his broken voice and heart.

"Not really," the king started wiping tears of Merlin's cheeks and running his fingers through Merlin's hair so many times he could've made Merlin bald. "They died. Because of me if we look at the things from my perspective. You did it all because of me. We both share the blame I suppose. Merlin. Mer-Lin. Merlin."

"What are you doing?" Merlin's look was confused as the king leaned closer.

"Just saying your name. Sounds beautiful. Hello, Merlin."

"Arthur," Merlin said and jumped back into his arms, for Arthur to whirl him in the air.

"Can you believe it?!" Arthur exclaimed as he put Merlin back on the ground and took him by the hand. "Merlin, we both made it! We did it, we came to Gedref! You’ve come back as you promised! You did, you did, you did!"

"Arthur, I..." Merlin's inhales and exhales still seemed ruined by his nervous breakdown, but Arthur’s words and cares and touches were soothing.

"Don’t speak. Let me just hold you," Arthur commanded, letting Merlin snuggle his head into Arthur’s left shoulder as he kept caressing the cloaked dragonlord. "Damn it, Merlin! Stop crying, you silly. You thought I would be mad at you?"

"I thought you might think I am not me because I am the dragonlord," Merlin sobbed, and Arthur felt his shoulder wet with tears and laughed.

"Oh cut it off! A dragon lord, my arse. You are still the worst servant in the five kingdoms."

"And you are the....

"the best lover, you wanted to say. Merlin let me look at you," Arthur said, stepping back. "Goddess, why are you so thin?

"Must be sunstone," Merlin shrugged.

"Your hair has grown," Arthur chuckled. "Everywhere. Let me have one kiss. One sweet kiss on your cheek. Alright. Maybe two. Well, three wouldn’t hurt. Merlin, you are hungry? I know you are. You look like you need to eat a boar. I must tell the servants to bring something."

"Who was that girl in the garden?" Merlin asked shyly.

"Jealous?" Arthur smiled, hitting Merlin on the tip of his nose with his index finger.

"Should I be?"

"Not really."

"Not really?!"

"Easy there, dragon lord. She is the princess of Nemeth. I think Owaine has an eye on her."

"What is she doing here?"

"Oh, Merlin, that’s such a long story..."

"Is this your room?" Merlin asked as he kept recovering from the outbreak of despair that had been eating him since the day of the dragon attack on Camelot.

" _Our_ room. Merlin, can you believe it? We are going to have our own room and a proper bed. And you can sleep with me. We don’t have to hide."

Arthur pulled Merlin closer and welcomed him back with a fruity longing kiss that lasted so long it left them both breathless. For now, everything seemed fine. For now, the world had no troubles. For now, the world tasted with salty softness of Merlin's red lips and with the burning heat of his breath, and Arthur was happy.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, now that they are finally together... They have been missing a lot of poetry lessons, so the chapters 
> 
> "Two Sides of the Same Coin" and "The Labyrinth of Gedref" will be mostly about, you know, poetry. 
> 
> And an epilogue to finish "The Guiding Star" :) 
> 
> Check for updates on the weekend and thank you so much for following!
> 
> twitter.com/diamond_abyss


	81. Two Sides of the Same Coin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first day Merlin and Arthur spend together in Portstown and the castle of Gedref.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV 
> 
> nsfw warning ;)

 

When Arthur disappeared to look for servants and ask them to bring some food, Merlin let out a heavy, tormented sigh. Whatever happened after he had left the crystal cave was the work of the mightiest magic he had ever experienced. Nothing, not even the night when Kilgharrah shared the knowledge of Sigan defiance with him could compare to the power that overflowed his very veins when he had mounted the dragon and flew to serve his wrath to Odin’s and Alined’s fleet sailing the Merchant’s Bay. _Was it really me? Or was it Kilgharrah? Was it some dragonlord magic?_

Merlin remembered the fury that left him breathless when he saw the letters of Darian in the crystal cave, when he realized the last letter of Darian had been written days or weeks before the Battle of Ashes. _They never saw each other again. Prince Darian died at the Battle of Ashes, and Uther conquered Eofham and stroke a deal with Ryence to keep Brechfa out of war. Reginald wanted to slaughter Uther for it, he called banners, but his nephews, Agravaine and Tristan, killed him and married their sister Ygraine to Uther to seal peace with the usurper._

Merlin rose to his feet and felt the cold of the stone floor biting his bare feet. He found it odd to be wearing nothing but Arthur’s red cloak to cover his nakedness, but the cloak smelled of Arthur, of his sweat mixed with strawberries and some other wild forest berries. When Merlin stepped out on the balcony of king’s room, he wrapped the cloak tightly around himself and watched the lovely garden of short lanes where Kilgharrah had uprooted half a dozen fruit trees while landing. The dragon was sitting peacefully in the garden, his tail writhing slowly like a giant snake, indicating the content mood of the dragon. _I need to talk to him. To thank him, after all. Maybe we can be friends in the end._

The castle of Gedref was everything Merlin could dream of, everything the castle of Camelot lacked. There were almost no guards in its corridors and halls, for the castle rock was connected with the mainland by the bridge that could be raised whenever the castellan commanded, and thus the chances of intrusion were extremely low, and the guards – much less needed. All the greenery of the fruit garden was so comfortably shielded from the curious eyes by the curtain wall and the royal keep, and with the beautiful arbour, it seemed such a lovely place. _I can be picking apples and feeding them to Dolly. If I could bring her to Gedref…_

In the idyll of the Seaside Kingdom, there was one thing that reminded Merlin of the woes of the realm that hadn’t gone anywhere: the crows. Black-winged and high-pitched, they were flying from the mainland into the bay, dark clouds to feast on the slaughtered Odin’s and Alined’s soldiers in the bay. _Something has to be done about the bodies. Can anything be done, though? Will they just drown?_

After all the time he had spent struggling to solve the sunstone and moonstone riddle, Merlin felt that the serenity of the sea-guarded castle was too good to be true.

Arthur kissed him in the ear so suddenly Merlin jumped and shuddered: the king had stealthily entered the room and tip-toed all the way towards the cloak-covered Merlin.

“You’ve scared me!” Merlin tried to punch the laughing Arthur lightly, but the king caught his wrist and pulled Merlin in for the hug.

“Knew I would. Couldn’t help it. You looked too serious there. Standing on the balcony, caught up in some thoughts like some serious warlock…”

“I _was_ thinking,” Merlin smiled, hiding his look from the Arthur’s longing eyes.

“You know how bad that is for you, don’t you?”

“You’re such a spoiled crown-wearing prat, I swear I…”

His lips parted for Arthur’s too eagerly, but he couldn’t do anything about. _Arthur will think me such a wanton_ , Merlin thought, smiling, as Arthur tried to draw every little bit of pleasure from their kiss.

“I’ve ordered some breakfast for you. They’ll bring it soon, but I’m afraid it won’t be anything special. Kitchens were told to cook sparingly because of the siege,” Arthur said, inviting Merlin back to the room. “But once the siege is thwarted, I’ll go hunting and I’ll kill a boar for you and…”

 _The siege_ , Merlin remembered.

“Arthur, Ryence is dead.”

Arthur turned around and measured Merlin with a curious gaze.

“I know. Merlin was it…you?”

“What?! Me? No, of course not!” Merlin exclaimed. “I thought about it, but I thought… I mean, what good would that do? Killing Ryence with magic, that would’ve only cast people’s mood into deeper hatred of magic, right?”

There was nothing funny about it, then why was Arthur’s smile beaming and turning the whole room brighter?

“What’s wrong?” Merlin asked, a faint frown making his eyebrows twitch. “Have I said something funny?”

Arthur took a seat beside his dining table and refused to reply, his smile growing even wider.

“Arthur?!”

“You may find out not all people are easily cast into deeper mood of hatred,” Arthur announced mystifyingly.

_Why is he talking riddles?!_

“Arthur, what’s the meani…”

“I’ve lifted the ban on magic,” Arthur announced almost proudly. “It was my first decree as a king.”

There seemed to be less and less sense about the world. _Arthur lifting the ban… Arthur lifting the ban? Lifting the ban? The castle of Gedref alone had seemed to good to be something real, and now the whole land where magic is… legal? Where I don’t have to hide? Where I can openly serve at Arthur’s side?_

“You really lifted the ban on magic?” Merlin asked, hating that tears were for some reason welling up in his voice despite the joyous nature of the news.

“Yes. I knew it was the right thing to do. The honorable thing. I couldn’t be… couldn’t be so selfish.”

“Selfish?”

“I couldn’t keep relying on your magic service and prohibiting other people to use magic. I want everybody to feel as safe as you feel with me. If you ever feel safe with me,” Arthur added, turning his gaze away as his cheeks reddened.

Merlin darted off and nearly jumped onto the seated Arthur, threatening to undo the chair underneath them. He just threw his arms around Arthur’s neck and put his head on Arthur’s shoulder, sobbing for some reason. Two months ago, he would’ve told himself it was foolish to dream of the day when magic would be legal of Camelot, of the day when his service to Arthur would be appreciated and when Arthur would see him for what he really was. Now, everything came to pass, the world was once again a happy song, and Arthur kept laughing as he’d let his hands beneath Merlin’s cloak to run them along Merlin’s back.

“I thought that’d make you happy, but you’re still crying,” Arthur said merrily.

“Oh, do shut up for a moment,” Merlin laughed through tears.

“That’s my phrase!” Arthur hands started climbing Merlin’s back and threatened to attack his ribs.

“Alright, alright, I’m sorry for using that phrase against your royal arse,” Merlin said, trying to arch away from Arthur’s tickling. “Just… Arthur, I never dreamed, I mean I dreamed, but I thought that’d be dream, and now it’s real but it feels like a dream! You understand?”

“Not a single word,” Arthur laughed. “You’re talking gibberish, nothing’s new.”

Merlin let their noses meet as he opened his mouth and made Arthur prepare for the kiss, but just when their lips were about to meet, he teased Arthur and instead of kissing him on the lips, he pressed a soft touch against Arthur’s ear. A touch, one touch was enough to make a moan escape Arthur’s mouth, and Merlin could feel Arthur’s whole body turn into tension and desire.

“Don’t do that,” Arthur warned him with a smile that looked dangerous. “I’m beginning to think of carrying you into bed and not letting you leave it for days.”

“What’s stopping you?” Merlin asked innocently.

“My crown. We have a lot of duties to perform today. We must travel to Portstown, there are siege matters to be discussed, Leon’s to be exchanged for Modron, Lord Sei and Lord Rysor… And the dragon, we have to explain the dragon…”

“We?” Merlin smiled. “You said we?”

“I did. I welcome you to my council now.”

“Who shall I be?”

“My royal jester,” Arthur said, before the knock on the door signaled the arrival of breakfast.

 

***

 

After Merlin had broken his fast with boiled seagull eggs and fried bread, Arthur made him dress in some of the finest clothes he had ever seen, the ones he had obviously never thought he’d be ever wearing. _If I go to Ealdor wearing it, Mom will faint. I must write a letter to her, I must tell her that I am fine and safe._

Wearing the finest wine-colored tunic, high boots of bleached leather inlaid with silver scrollwork, Merlin went into the garden as Arthur was finalizing his preparations for their Portstown trip.

Without the guards positioned at every corner, the castle of Gedref felt a much more comfortable and liberated place than the castle of Camelot. The stillness of the area seemed magical, as though the castle had been enchanted to guard the calm in the midst of the noisy bay. To his surprise, Merlin saw that Kilgharrah was actually enjoying some company in the garden: the librarian, Henry, was there, in his dark-blue rippling robes, talking to the dragon. _He is not afraid._

“You must be the dragonlord,” the slightly plump man nodded and bowed his head to meet Merlin. _Nodoby has ever bowed down to greet me._ “I am Henry the Librarian.”

“My name’s Merlin,” Merlin said, his hair stirred by the wind that was carrying the evanescent notes of dragon fire from across the bay. “You are not afraid of the dragon?”

Merlin’s inquiry amused the man.

“Afraid? Why? This is not a wild dragon. This is the Great Dragon, a creature wiser than any living man. Intelligent beyond the limits of human knowledge and well-mannered, too.”

Kilgharrah nostrils grew wide with pride.

“It’s just… I didn’t think…” Merlin mumbled, feeling a little foolish. “I just didn’t think… there could be people… not afraid of dragons….”

That amused the librarian even more.

“The world is a wide place, Merlin. People inhabiting it are as different as fruits in this garden. Besides, I am sure you are well aware of the large group of people who were never afraid of the dragons, save for the wild ones. The druids. They would be more than happy to learn of the return of the great dragon and his dragonlord.”

Merlin blinked and recalled the exhausted expression of the Fisher King in the Perilous Land. _Albion's time of need is near. And in that dark hour you must be strong, for you alone can save her. You are the last dragonlord, and the throne of Albion is yours by ancient rights._

“There is something you’ve dropped in the garden when you landed,” Henry said, handing Merlin his magic wand and the water from Avalon the Fisher King had gifted him in the cobwebbed throne hall. “You must look after these objects attentively, Merlin. Now, I think you have a lot to discuss with Kilgharrah.”

 _He knows his name. Who is this librarian,_ Merlin thought as he watched the dark-blue robes of Henry leave the garden. Kilgharrah was happy to see him, unfolding his wings to half fly and half hop, making a couple of pears fall onto the ground and land at Merlin’s feet.

“I must thank you,” Merlin shouted. “Thanks to you, Arthur and the whole of Portstown are safe.”

“You need not dim your own part, young dragonlord,” Kilgharrah responded. “Our powers are joined as much as our souls. Your magic made my own strengths grow tenfold over the bay. It has been many a year since I breathed out that much flames.”

“But you’ve done it before?”

“I have warred a lot, young dragonlord. I have seen civilizations rise and fall. I have smashed armies and made entire cities turn to ashes.”

“I don’t want to turn cities into ashes,” Merlin blurted out nervously.

“Then your wish is mine,” Kilgharrah said, bowing down his head and sniffing at Merlin. “Just as I thought. Your determination to see goodness in people shows your noble heart and great courage, but watch it, young dragonlord. Do not let it become your undoing.”

“I will be ever watchful,” Merlin promised. “But… the goodness in people, it can’t be weaker than evil? Anger? Can it?”

“You speak of Morgana,” Kilgharrah guessed. “Since the dawn of time, darkness thrives in the void, but it always yields to purifying light. And even though magic is as double edged as any sword, a true heart will tough the poison of hatred without being harmed, much like the true mind will weather all the lies and illusions without being lost.”

Merlin inhaled deeply, trying to at least memorize what the dragon was saying – understanding seemed too hard at the moment. Kilgharrah’s eyes were booming shields of fire, showering Merlin with a gaze that seemed to be looking through the young warlock.

“You must remember my warning from the past, young dragonlord. The ancient prophecies speak of an alliance of Mordred and Morgana. United in evil, they will bring about Arthurs doom. This union must be stopped, whatever the cost.”

_Nobody will bring about Arthur’s doom. They will need to get past me first._

“And if I… stop this alliance, Arthur will be safe?” he asked with such a powerful hopefulness the trees seemed to blossom from it.

“He will. This day is important, young warlock. The history of Camelot ends today, while the history of Albion begins.”

_Albion's time of need is near. And in that dark hour you must be strong, for you alone can save her. You are the last dragonlord, and the throne of Albion is yours by ancient rights._

***

 

“Arthur, there are seagulls!”

“Of course, there are _seagulls_ , Merlin. Because we’re in the _sea_ ,” Arthur said, shaking his head and giving Merlin an eyeroll. “I swear, at times you act as though you were a child still playing with a wooden sword.”

“I never played with a wooden sword,” Merlin grinned.

The ship was carrying them to Portstown. Behind their backs, waves were smashing against huge stone arches of the castle rock, and winds were howling in the Dragon’s Jaws. The sea, the voice that knew no silence, was washing against the rocky shore further to the east of the castle of Gedref. To the west, Merlin could see distant flickering of lightning and the faraway crash of thunder had made the sea grow a little rougher. The last embers of Odin’s and Alined’s fleet had burned out over the bay, and the warships that survived the dragonwrath were quick to turn back and sail to wherever they had come from. Portstown, safe again, was growing in size unbothered on the western shore.  

“How long does it take? The sail?” he asked, turning to Arthur.

“Couple of hours, less if the winds are kind,” Arthur said, coming to stand by the rail next to Merlin. “But since I’ve taken the biggest ship form Dragon’s Jaws…. Might be it would take us a little longer. I would’ve invited you below the deck and offer you a handful of opportunities to spend our time, but there are too many rowers here.”

Merlin let his hand touch Arthur’s to provoke an eager gaze from the king. _The greedy-blue._

“And why did you take the biggest ship?”

“Because you just won a decisive victory in the most important battle,” Arthur’s look was so overflowed with gratitude Merlin feared it would make the ship sink. “And I need to stage a proper scene now. When I came to Portstown, I thought it was the safest city in the wide world, because it had sick walls and access to the bay, which would make any siege useless. They kept saying that Portstown could only be threated from the sea, but Camelot has never had fleet, so we felt that neither Ryence nor Yrien could harm us. Odin though… And Alined… They had fleet and… I understand Odin’s reasons, but Alined? He seemed too much a coward.”

“King Alined wanted you to bed King Olaf’s daughter Vivian during the negotiations of the Treaty of Five Kings. He wanted this to be a great insult to the royal house of Norway. He planned to sabotage the treaty.”

“Which is easy to understand,” Arthur nodded. “But sabotaging treaties during negotiations is one thing, and it suits Alined perfectly. Sending a whole fleet against me, though… Risking so much…”

“Maybe he didn’t feel he was risking anything?” Merlin assumed, watching a pair of seagulls chase each other across the inky sky as the ship was skimming westward, fat on sails. “You said Camelot never had fleet. Why would King Alined think attacking Portstown was a risk? The city was defenseless.”

“I don’t want to try and crawl into his worthless mind,” Arthur spat. “But I will never forget it. Once I deal with Yrien and Rion, I will remind King Alined of his unworthy behavior.”

Portstown seemed to be a sea of its own, with tiled rooftops rising and falling as waves. As they approached the quay, Merlin saw the square brick towers, the towerhouses where lords and ladies and merchants and envoys would dwell. Fishing boats were moving all across the bay, so great in number that from the far distance they seemed like countless birds resting on the water sheet. Merlin saw sails of trading galleys rippling in the wind, masts of larger than life ships poking up along the shore. Strange smells would scent that chilly quay air, the stench of fish and the glamour of spices.

 There was a whole procession lined up in the harbor to meet the young king. To Merlin’s amusement, there seemed to be little protocol to be executed about the whole event: there were people, ordinary people, some tall, some short, some washed and some filthy, some lean and some unshaven, couples and lonely ones and families, young and old, all gathered to meet Arthur. When they descended the ship, Merlin followed his Arthur with a mesmerized look. It was not the Arthur he had parted with in Ealdor, the Arthur struggling to recover from the failed assassination of Ryence, the anger-eaten Arthur helpless from the idea he could do nothing about the murderer of his father sitting the throne of Camelot. Before him was the king of Camelot and all her territories, the man who had learned to exercise patience and mercy in his judgement, who had overcome so much to get to Portstown, who had welcomed all the people of Camelot into his rule, including the sorcerers and witches, the king who had chosen responsibility over vengeance. _Goddess, I love him so much_ , Merlin thought as the dark-inky shimmer of the sea would dance in the seven gemstones of Arthur’s crown.

Arthur was greeted by a kneeling ginger-bearded young man who'd shave his head bald intentionally. When the king petted him on the shoulder, the man rose.

“The city is free, your majesty,” he shouted to cause a wild roar among the crowd. “Portstown is no longer besieged.”

Merlin managed to glimpse at a quick shadow of relief that crossed Arthur’s face before he tried to put on the confident expression again.

“How so?” the king asked.

“When Yrien’s host saw the dragon… and what it did to the fleet that was threatening the city… Many of them dropped their swords and deserted their camp, your majesty.”

Merlin sighed. He could easily understand those men. _They will be called cowards, but that’s wrong. At least two hundred of Yrien’s host came from Lower Town. They remember dragon flames too well to risk encountering the Great Dragon again._

“…opened the gates and I led the attack. The commoners from enemy’s army fled as soon as our right flank destroyed whatever was left of Yrien’s center, and our left flank captured most of the knights. They are imprisoned now, awaiting your justice. Lord Chefyl of the castle of Woodspeak among them.”

“And what of Lord Gloss of the castle of Chemary? Hasn’t he arrived to help Yrien’s army?”

“Following Queen Yrien’s order, he has raised his host of three hundred men and began his march on Portstown, occupying Burnwood on the way. It took him longer than he had expected, the town showed some fierce defiance to Gloss’s army. Now that Sir Leon’s host is defeated, we don’t think he’d stay in Burnwood for long. The city doesn’t have strong walls, it is easy to capture but hard to defend with just three hundred men. We believe Lord Gloss will take his host back to the castle of Chemary.”

“The farther from Gedref, the better,” Arthur nodded and invited Merlin to follow him.

“Merlin, meet Sir Darmund Sei. He is the defender of the city and the nephew of Lord of Portstown. Sir Darmund, this is Merlin, my councilor.”

“My lord,” Sir Darmund nodded.

Merlin flushed as wine-red as his tunic. _My lord? Nobody ever called me lord. Do I look like one in these clothes?_

“What of Modron and your uncle? And Lord Rysor?” King Arthur inquired.

“They have all been freed. They await your majesty in my uncle’s towerhouse.”

Before they proceeded to Lord Sei’s towerhouse, though, Arthur spoke to people who had gathered to meet him. He told them that the siege had been broken, and that war would never again come to Portstown’s gates. He assured them that even those who could threaten Portstown from the sea were now defeated. Arthur said that after the decree of magic ban repeal had been published, a young dragonlord came to the castle of Gedref to swear fealty to her king and her people and offer himself and his dragon in the service of the realm. “Can I fly on the dragon’s back, dad?” Merlin heard one boy of no older than ten ask.

By the look of the streets, it appeared Portstown would feast the following day, and when Merlin, Arthur and Darmund rode along the peopled streets, everybody would shout cheers at the king and try to touch his cloak.

 When Merlin entered Lord Sei’s towerhouse, he saw Owaine in boots of soft grey leather, a black velvet doublet slashed with indigo silk, glittering with teardrops of garnet. Smile was dancing on his face.

“Merlin!” he rushed to hug him and petted him on the back. “Merlin, damn it, you look like… like a prince yourself! Where did you get that tunic? Looks familiar… Anyway, you heard of the feast? I told you I’d throw a feast to celebrate your arrival, you saved me in the forest of Brechfa and I will not forget it, nobody will and…”

Merlin eyes caught a piercing gaze of unshaved Modron in silver armor. Owaine stepped aside as Modron approached Merlin.

“If you are the dragonlord, why didn’t you stop the attack of the dragon on Camelot nearly two months ago?”

His voice was steel, and his look so concealed behind the black gleam of his eyes that Merlin didn’t feel any emotion whatsoever coming from Modron.

“Dragonlords inherit the power to command the dragon when their father dies,” Merlin announced. “My father died when we were bringing him to Camelot to stop the attack.”

Arthur, who was as tensed as everybody in the room, nodded when Modron turned to him for confirmation.

“Then welcome home, friend,” Modron said and offered Merlin a warm handshake, smiling.

They were all there again, Owaine, Arthur and Modron, and for the moment it appeared that Gwaine would kick the door open and enter the room, too, but neither Gwaine nor Lancelot appeared. In their stead, Lord Sei, a thin stooped man, lord of Portstown, and Lord Rysor entered the council room. Lord Rysor’s bald head reminded Merlin of a seagull egg he had eaten for breakfast and made him want to throw up.

“Merlin, this is Lord Sei of Portstown, and Lord Rysor of Breninwall. My lords, this is Merlin, my… dragonlord.”

“So it is true,” Lord Sei tried to battle disbelief in his thin voice. “A dragonlord… Who could have thought…”

“Merlin has sworn fealty to the crown and to the realm. He is the subject of the same laws as we all,” Arthur pointed. “My lords, shall we begin?”

The council room of Lord Sei’s towerhouse was so small they could hear each other’s breathing. Merlin was seated between Arthur and Owaine, and their elbows were touching.

“How many men have we lost during fighting?” Arthur asked Sir Darmund.

“We haven’t done the full counting, your majesty, but it’s unlikely the number will surpass a dozen. It was our cavalry that led the attack, and by the time we rode out of the gates, no less than two hundred and twenty Yrien soldiers fled the field, terrified of the dragon.”

“Whom have we captured?”

“The harvest is rich, your majesty,” Lord Sei coughed, content. “Lord Chefyl of Woodspeak, to begin with. He is the lord of the second biggest castle in Brechfa.”

“He is the one who called me a work of magic and a coward hiding behind the walls?”

“Just so,” Lord Sei nodded. “Lord Chefyl has always been loyal to House Gingawaine, some say he was Ryence’s most trusted bannerman. I am sure Queen Yrien will pay us a hefty ransom for him.”

“Hardly ever,” Lord Rysor shook his head. “If it is loyalty Yrien desires from House Chefyl and the castle of Woodspeak, she’ll find it in Lord Chefyl’s trueborn son and heir who’s been ruling Woodspeak in his father’s absence. It would be wiser to exchange Lord Chefyl for Lady Gedref, our lord’s mother, than to demand a ransom.”

If there was hope in Owaine’s eyes, he did his best to hide it.

“Then so be it,” Arthur concluded. “Lord of Woodspeak for Lady of Gedref. It sounds fair. The other noble captives though… We must hold them before we negotiate with Lord Gloss. If he means to hold Burnwood and defend it… We can make an offer. We can release all the noble captives and hand them to Lord Gloss if he agrees to leave Burnwood without a fight. I’ve seen Lord Gribs and the younger of Wynau brothers. Their names mean a lot in Brechfa, Lord Gloss would not deny the chance to get them back.”

“And don’t forget about the Dwynton twins. We’ve captured them, too,” Lord Rysor said proudly.

“That’s nice to hear. Need I remind that we must treat our captives well, as befits their noble birth and status?”

“That’s understood, your majesty,” Darmund said. “And what of Sir Leon?”

“I shall determine his fate myself. I’ve trained with him,” Arthur said with bitter nostalgy to his tone. “I can’t believe he’s taken arms against me… Now, my lords, if we manage to persuade Lord Gloss of Chemary leave Burnwood without fight in exchange for freeing all the noble Brechfa hostages save for Lord Chefyl, Burnwood will be free. The one remaining Gedref town which hasn’t answered our call is…”

“Doomspath,” Owaine said with poorly hidden dismay to his tone. “Lady Lludwig will come and tell us this story how House Lludwig has descended from the dragonlords who captured Gedref four hundred years ago and demand the castle in exchange for her help. She is a crazy arrogant stupid idiot, your majesty.”

“Yet she holds Doomspath nonetheless. The town is of strategic importance, it’s at the crossing of river Sabrina and Denaria road. If we manage to win Lady Lludwig to our side, we will have a shiled in the west. Or, better said, from the west. My lords, these two tasks are of crucial meaning to the crown. Negotiations with Lord Gloss over the fate of Burnwood and talks with Lady Lludwig, sworn bannerwoman to the castle of Gedref. Who can I trust with these missions?”

“I will talk with Lord Gloss,” Lord Rysor promised. “But none of us here is fit to talk to Lady Lludwig. She thinks the castle of Gedref is hers by rights because of some dragon blood flowing in her veins. She thinks that all those who hold a shaft of authority in Gedref now have stolen her birthright. It would be best for… for the dragonlord himself to talk to her, I reckon.”

“Will you help us, Merlin?”

Merlin nodded. _I will do anything for you, dollophead, have you not understood it yet?_

 

***

 

Storm was raging in the Merchant’s Bay, as if it were a late guest to the battle between the Great Dragon and King Odin’s and King Alined’s fleet. Merlin was telling Arthur the stories about his adventures in the Perilous Land when another roar of thunder seemed to tear the sky apart, as though a music to accompany the story about the cursed realm of the Fisher King. 

“And the wyvern attacked us! And Lance had no sword!”

“Since when is he _Lance_ to you?”

Merlin rolled his eyes and hid his face under the pillow.

“Alright, _Lancelot_ had no sword and I didn’t know if I could command them, I mean if they would obey...”

Arthur was listening to Merlin and trying to light up the candles in their castle room, failing every time because Merlin was playing with him: whenever the king tried to set another candle on fire, Merlin’s eyes would flash and start the fire with magic.

“Stop doing that,” Arthur chuckled.

“I thought magic was now perfectly legal?”

“It is. Mocking your king is still treason.”

Arthur turned around and measured Merlin with a shameless look of dark lust and desire. Merlin, who was lying on the bed that seemed so vast it could house six people, suddenly felt completely naked. Arthur smile was a study of content and power, as though the king could feel what his look alone could do to Merlin.

Arthur stepped closer to the edge of the bed.

“Take my crown off,” his command was soft, but it was a command nonetheless. Merlin crawled to the edge of the bed to stand on his knees and let his fingers touch the shimmering gold of Arthur’s crown with seven shining gemstones. _It feels a lot heavier than it looks._

“You missed me?” Arthur asked, licking his lips. “Goddess, Merlin, you can’t begin to know how I mi…”

Merlin didn’t feel like talking. Arthur’s mouth could be devoted to doing wonders on his lips, they would have the whole night to talk. And many more nights. Arthur’s lips felt sweet and soft as the king let Merlin lead the dance and show him how much he had missed Arthur. Was there ever a kiss that could portray all the longing Merlin had endured while they had been apart?

Arthur seemed to feel it, though, for Merlin could sense him respond with tensions growing in the king’s arms and elsewhere, and his chest rising, and their kiss was the joined fire of their breaths that could make Merlin’s mind melt. They were both out of air soon, but none of them dared break their lips apart, none dared to stop the pleasure, as though there could be no way to restore the sweetness.

“I missed you,” Arthur said as he took his tunic off. “You didn’t let me finish, you, silly wanton.”

Merlin giggled as he watched Arthur struggling to pull his breeches down his knees. _He looks more clumsy than I ever did when he’s in love_. When Arthur finally escaped the depraved clutches of his clothes, he jumped into bed to lay on his back with his arms and legs spread wide, as though claiming his space. Merlin eyes were agleam with temptation to take Arthur in his mouth at once, but he didn’t want it to happen so quickly.

“What are we supposed to do with it?” Merlin inquired in a nearly official tone, pointing at Arthur’s hardness with a nod.

“Whatever you want,” Arthur said, closing his eyes and flushing. “Please, Merlin. I’m so hard I’m aching.”

“I don’t know…” Merlin let his fingers tip-toe along Arthur's chest and belly to stop inches from the head of his cock which would thrust from the feeling of Merlin’s hand so close. “Depends on what my king can promise me in return.”

“Your king will promise to be tender tomorrow. When he’s gonna fuck you.”  

“Is that supposed to awe me?” Merlin laughed.

“Merlin,” Arthur said, grabbing Merlin by the wrist and guiding Merlin’s hand to his pulsing veined cock. “Disobeying king is treason. I _command_ you to perform your solemn duty.

“Beg pardons? My solemn duty?”

“Yes,” Arthur squeezed a heavy drop of precum and smeared it across Merlin’s lips that began to glisten. “How does it taste?”

It tasted of Arthur, of the night when Merlin tried his prince’s taste for the first time, of the Ascetir forest smells. He captured Arthur’s index finger with his lips and sucked it dry.

“You are such a royal cabbage head,” Merlin whispered as he nested himself over the blanket and let his lips kiss the tip of Arthur’s cock.

Arthur shut his eyes and let out a moan. Merlin let some spit land on Arthur’s cock with a funny noise which water makes when you spill it on the table. There was always this madness about Arthur’s cock, the incredibly soft skin that would travel along Merlin’s lips with natural easiness, and yet the _unyielding_ hardness and strength beneath that skin that would try to get deeper and deeper into Merlin’s mouth with every new thrust.

Arthur wasn’t thrusting his hips this time: he was watching Merlin, in the wine-red tunic of finest silk, swallow his cock and guide his lips up and down the lengths caringly, mixing the motions with sucking, switching between slow and fast, soft and rough. When Merlin looked up at Arthur’s face, he encountered an expression that suggested the king was so overwhelmed with sensation he couldn’t speak – his repressed moans and opened mouth were the only indications of the pleasure that wouldn’t allow him to take his gaze off Merlin for even a moment.

When Arthur started running his fingers through Merlin’s hair, it was clear the king was struggling not to grab Merlin too hard. Merlin smiled, for he knew he had awoken the darkly lustful Arthur that once pinned him against the wall and fucked him in the corridor after the summer feast. To push Arthur closer to the edge, Merlin let his mouth welcome every inch of Arthur’s unyielding length, until the moment when Merlin’s lips were sealed around the very base of Arthur’s cock. The king’s thighs began to shake and his hips - buck and move helplessly as Arthur muttered curses, grabbing the bedsheets, as his cock was twitching in Merlin’s mouth, shooting seed.

Afterwards, Merlin crawled back up to kiss his king and rub his chest. Arthur suddenly seized him and began to cling to Merlin for dear life, words seemingly failing to express his gratitude.   

“Come here,” he said. “Stay in my arms. I can’t believe you’re fully mine now. Are you, Merlin?”

“I am.”

“Fully? Without any secrets lingering somewhere in your magic bottom? Ouch!” Arthur withered as Merlin tried to pinch Arthur’s cheek. “What was that?”

“Friendly horseplay. For assuming I store secrets down my bottom.”  

“That was not horseplay, Merlin. Here. Let me teach you some.”

“Arthur, I’ve missed you,” Merlin breathed it out into his king’s ear, planting a kiss on Arthur’s shoulder on the way. “I missed you all the time.”

Arthur responded with a long thoughtful silence that did seem dramatic in the echoes of the storm.

“I wanted to throw everything away and race to you,” Arthur said. “Because you were my only friend and I couldn’t bear to lose you. But I didn’t know where you were.”

“I’m so afraid I will wake up tomorrow and find out it’s all been a dream and that we haven’t found each other yet…” Merlin’s voice was trembling.  

“Then what do you propose? To never sleep?”

“Oh, you’re having troubles with romantic words, right?”

“Right,” Arthur said, covering them both with a blanket and locking Merlin in his arms as he turned on the side. “Because I have _you_ for that. You will be responsible for all romantic words from now on. You will be my Councilor of Love.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We have one last chapter left! "The Labyrinth of Gedref", and an epilogue <3 
> 
> I can't believe this fic is coming to a close and I feel obliged to say that Merlin's and Arthur's and Morgana's and Gwen's adventures will continue in "The Fire Striker", the third work from "King, Prince and Priestess" series, to be published this fall. 
> 
> Thank you for reading and for following! <3
> 
> Last Chapter "The Labyrinth of Gedref" to be published on May, 12 ! <3


	82. The Labyrinth of Gedref

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merlin and Arthur spend time together in the castle of Gedref and nearby territories :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merlin POV and Arthur POV

Morning came as though without dawn, for the sky remained hidden behind the thick veil of inky rainclouds. The storm had been raging all night, but come morning, and the roars of thunder grew tired and turned into a soft cracking booming from the distant corners of the black dome.

The rain was there to stay, though, slashing the sheets of the bay to play a summerly melody that was reaching every window in the castle. There was another sound, much less pleasant, that, too, seemed everywhere: seagulls.

They were shouting, and every single bird seemed to be using some uniquely irritating voice to deliver some message to pals. _What are they saying?_ Some of the long-drawn notes sounded like alarm to Merlin, like calls to warn of danger and urge other birds be ready to fly off. Some gulls sounded as though they were trying to get attention of their mates, excited by something. _Did they sense the dragonwrath that befell the bay when Kilgharrah destroyed Alined’s and Odin’s fleet? I bet they did. Animals sense such things._

Arthur’s skin felt incredibly hot to his touch: Merlin felt Arthur’s chest and belly against his back as Arthur was snoring, keeping Merlin peacefully locked in his arms. Their night had proved long, scented with love games and kisses long overdue, and from the heavy sleep that could be disturbed by neither seagulls nor the downpour, Arthur seemed as tired as after a long training session. _Well, we were training, in some sense, right?_ Merlin dove under blanket to let his fingers caress the tough shoulders and softer skin above Arthur’s ribs. When he felt Arthur under his touch, it was as beautiful and rewarding as none of the magic he possessed. It was love.

Merlin couldn’t resist the temptation to capture Arthur’s lips with his own, just for a moment, just for a fraction of second, just for that blissful flash that would cast pleasure to eclipse his very sight. Arthur’s lips twitched lazily in his dream, and the king turned to other side, freeing Merlin from the lock of his arms.

Now that Arthur was lying next to him, exhausted but happy, now that they had their own bedroom where they could sleep together without fear of being overheard by Uther’s guards or, even worse, overseen by Uther himself… There seemed to be nothing save for joy ahead of him, for the chances to tease Arthur under the blanket, and to fall asleep with their legs intertwined in such a lusty fashion that would surely postpone sleep for an hour or two. Yet the morning which was so black it required candle light reminded Merlin of the darker things beyond the horizon.

Merlin crawled out of bed, naked, looking for his red-wine tunic the king had taken off him a bit too hurriedly the previous night. _There it is._ He poured some water into a glass cup which looked too exquisite for kitchen pottery. Arthur was making him thirsty.

Merlin chose not to step out onto balcony, for he’d get soaked through at once. Instead, he decided to stand by the window, staring out into the day which couldn’t be told from night.

 _Even Gedref is not fully safe,_ Merlin thought, remembering Arthur’s most recent council. _Portstown has declared for Arthur and Owaine, and Lord Rysor from Breninwall has brought men to Arthur’s service, but… Lord Gloss, Yrien’s bannerman from the castle of Chemary, holds Burnwood. And Lady Lludwig from Doomspath has not responded to Owaine’s call, even though she is the bannerwoman of House Gedref. Nemeton has chosen to stay out of war, at least so it had been before Modron ran away to join Arthur’s cause. Winning Gedref alone will take time. Winning Camelot crown might take ages._

Merlin turned around to behold the scene of Arthur sleeping with his mouth open in a wildly funny manner, and it cost young warlock great efforts to suppress laughter as he hurried out of the room. In the corridor, Merlin encountered two servants: a boy and a girl, both round-faced, with auburn hair and happy faces. _They seem no older than thirteen. Aren’t they a bit too young to be servants?_

“My lord?” the boy inquired. “Shall I bring breakfast to you room? Bath?”

_I probably need bathing, but I hoped to swim in the bay._

“Listen, er… what are your names?”

“Beorn,” the boy replied. “This is my sister Offa.”

“Listen, Beorn. The king is still asleep and I… is there somewhere I can break fast? Some dining hall?”

“The breakfast hall in the right wing,” the girl said. “It’s where lords and ladies all break fast. When the war began, many moved to Portstown, though, so I’m afraid my lord won’t find much company.”

_They moved to Portstown because it would have been the easier place to escape had the walls been stormed._

“I shall show my lord to the breakfast hall. Offa, you go to the kitchens. What will my lord want for breakfast?”

“Anything, save for the seagulls’ eggs,” Merlin asked kindly.

The corridors in the castle of Gedref were wider and more splendid than in the castle of Camelot, and when they walked out of the Left Wing, they crossed a beautifully styled inner court, with benches and bushes, and flowerbeds to make for a simple garden area, much less sophisticated than the fruit tree garden by the curtain walls, but an improvement from Camelot’s lifeless stone inner yard. The breakfast hall was located on the third storie above the throne room, in the eastern-most corner of the castle, with a breathtaking view over the distant rocky shore that would tower above the sea, waves smashing against it with a mighty quenchless persistence. Despite Beorn’s warning about the loneliness of the breakfast hall since most of the lords and ladies had moved to Portstown, Merlin saw that he would enjoy a company nonetheless. A slender girl with pale skin and thick softly curling black hair was sitting by the table. Young and beautiful, with all the womanly curves about her figure. _Princess something. I saw her when I landed. Arthur told me about her._

“Your highness,” Merlin said, bowing down as Beorn left the room.

“Merlin, is it?” she smiled and rose to her feet. “I am honored. You are not what I quiet expected from what Arthur has told me about you.”

“Arthur told you something about me?”

“He said you were a good squire. And he told me this story about a witch that threw a knife at him, and how you pushed him away and saved him. And got this position of a servant in a gesture of gratitude. I didn’t believe in witches, for I thought they were all gone, just like the dragons. Little did I know, but then again, you can’t blame me. He missed the dragonlord part when he was talking about you.”

_Arthur was talking about me. He was missing me, too._

“Arthur didn’t know I was a dragonlord for some time. For most of the time, actually,” Merlin said.

“And finding out about your true nature didn’t keep his grace from putting high value in your service. I'm sure he has good reasons. I haven’t had the chance to talk to you, but one thing I've learned since you landed on a dragon in that garden is that Arthur values your opinion above almost all others. In Nemeth we say that cherries never fall far from the tree, but gods be good, how wrong this would sound about Arthur, right?”

Merlin smiled with a nod, beginning to thaw a little towards this princess from a distant southern land washed by the sea of Mora. Whatever jealousy he had stored for her was gone now. She was a charming girl, and she reminded him of Arthur in some way: underneath her royal stature there seemed to be a likeable person, although the extent of that likeability was still to be discovered.

“Please, don’t stand. Be seated. I’m sure you are hungry.”

“I am,” Merlin acknowledged, checking the door with a gaze that was full of hopes to see Offa bringing food.

“And you look like you’ve not slept enough. I am sure it’s the journey on the dragon’s back that was so tiring. What does it feel like? Flying, I mean? Gods, I must sound so silly! But I never thought, I never… See, we all believed the dragons had been dead, for how many years? I can mess the dates up, but I was born after the fall of dragons, my brothers, too, I think…. Half a century it must be? There were tales about one dragon still imprisoned in Camelot’s dungeons, but we all thought it was a tale which Uther, pardons, king Uther would spread to make himself look even more…. dangerous.”

“Kilgharrah was imprisoned in Camelot’s dungeons,” Merlin nodded with a sad smile, recalling the countless meetings he had held with the dragon, standing on the edge of the rock with a torch in his hand. _He once tried to roast me._ “Like all castles built by dragonlords, the castle of Camelot had a special giant cave for dragons. Like the castle of Idirsholas and this castle.”

“This is so hard to believe! And it talks? Or he? Or she?”

“Kilgharrah is a boy,” Merlin said, giggling. “Although if I ever call him a boy, he’ll probably roast me. He does talk. He is very wise.”

“And you’re not afraid of… Kill-Ga-Ra?” Mithian asked with poorly masked worriedness to her tone. “Of him… misbehaving?”

_He once misbehaved so much he killed hundreds of people in the Lower Town._

_“_ Now that I have fully come into my powers as a dragonlord, Kilgharrah abides by my will. So he will not misbehave unless I ask him to.”

Offa finally entered the room, bringing fried bread with bacon, red oranges freshly unloaded into the vaults of the Dragon Jaws village by a trading galley, and stinky bluish cheese with a loaf of garlic-scented bread. Merlin thought he could swallow everything in one bite, but there was a princess sitting opposite him, and he had to show some decency about his breakfast manners.

“Your highness, might I ask you what you are doing in Gedref?” Merlin thought himself bold enough to voice his curiosity.

“Hasn’t Arthur told you?”

“No. We, er, were busy last night. We were reading too much.”

“Reading what, pray tell?”

“Texts of royal decrees, letters and war maps,” Merlin lied, his face probably reddening to the shade of oranges on his plate.

“His grace has other decrees planned?”

“Of course. It just takes time… to finalize them.”

“How good to hear. But you must tell his grace reading by candlelight may ruin his sight. Daylight suits paper work a lot better,” Mithian smiled at Merlin’s appetite. “As for me… Well, Arthur helped me escape Nemeth. He had set me free from being a hostage to my own family.”

“How so?!” Merlin asked, food nearly dropping out of his mouth.

“It’s a long and said story, Merlin, and, if truth be told, after a few blissful days here, I just don’t think I’m ready to go through it again,” she coughed politely. “To be short, there are those in my family who want to deprive me of succession rights. Moreover, even after doing so they won’t let me be, won’t let me live freely, for they fear I might start rebellion and seek to reclaim the throne. Killing me didn’t seem an option, too, so they planned to keep me at court for as long as necessary, always under careful watch. I tried to escape a couple of times, but I failed. I had nowhere to go in my own kingdom, for I would endanger any palace where I’d ask for shelter. But Arthur… With Arthur, I got the chance to get to the castle of Gedref where nobody would be able to reach me. And after what had happened to Odin’s and Alined’s fleet, I don’t think they will be tempted to ever try and capture me and bring me back to Nemeth. Now isn’t it wonderful here? You have been to the garden after landing, I trust? The arbour is exquisite. It’s a pity the shore is bald and there are no forests for hunting, but hawking may still serve, and I think collecting seashells and eating by the seaside can be wonderful, don’t you agree?”

Merlin agreed. Wonderful, splendid, carefree, beautiful, serene – he’d run out of words if he had been asked to describe the castle of Gedref, but it wasn’t because of the garden or the grandeur of drum towers or anything like that. It was because Arthur was there with him, safe and recovered from the assassination of Ryence’s mercenaries, and sunstone and moonstone riddle had been solved. _Any place with Arthur would be wonderful._

“What were you planning for the day?” Merlin inquired.

“Oh, I thought to take a trip to Portstown. I haven’t visited it yet. My serving girls tell me there’s much to see about it. Besides, Lord Sei’s wife invited me to visit her towerhouse, and now that the attack of Odin and Aline has been thwarted, I feel I can’t postpone the visit any more. But the weather… This morning feels like night, don’t you think?”

“It does, it really does,” Merlin nodded. “And the sea still sounds a bit stormy, so… Maybe the day will be a little uneventful, I am afraid.”

He wasn’t afraid, though. Merlin hadn’t enjoyed an uneventful day in what appeared to be ages. Ever since the attack of Medihr knights on Camelot, something seemed to be happening every day, and often the events were unpleasant and dangerous to the point of life-threatening. He longed for a peaceful uneventful day. With Arthur, preferably. Although that would ruin the uneventful part, for Arthur would certainly make something happen in their bed.

“If you excuse me,” Mithian smiled, rising to her feet. “It was nice meeting you, Merlin. I do hope we become friends.”

“So do I,” Merlin said, not actually believing a princess was wanting to befriend him. _Is it because I am a dragonlord? Or because she just finds me nice?_

Merlin finished his breakfast in silence, thinking about the time he had spent in the crystal cave and the letters of Darian he had seen or heard or experienced. Merlin found it hard to believe that he was in the castle where Prince Darian of Camelot and Prince Reginald of Seaside Kingdom had once met and fallen in love during their squire years. He remembered the visions that were shown to him by spirits, the visions that told Merlin how Darian and Reginald had moved from anger and tension and misliking to friendship and love. _They fought on the rocky shore with swords_ , Merlin recalled, smiling. _Bloody fools_. But then he remembered his own clumsy fight with Arthur on the market when they met, and his smile grew even wider. _Can it be true? Can Arthur and I… Goddess, what if? Does it change anything?_

Merlin remembered he had first come across this thought during the final hour of the Medihr attack, when Arthur said something like _“If I need a servant in the next life”_ before he rushed to kill the Medihr knights or die trying. _Could it be that he sensed it at the moment when our lives were on the verge? Could it be that he had sensed it before I did?_

_It very well can be so. I befriended Arthur because Kilgharrah told me we were two sides of the same coin. It took me some time to realize the dragon was not wrong. Arthur, though… He never knew about dragon’s prophecy. He took interest in me because… Because…_

Darian’s letter to Reginald flashed in Merlin’s memory. _I have been working on a spell that would allow me to conjure a very special place for you and me in Gedref. It will only be accessible to us, nobody will ever be able to find us there. For the rest of the world, it will look like a lifeless labyrinth, but for you and me, it will be the place where we shall be able to meet without the risk of being followed. One day I will spend weeks with you there. I love you._

“My little sneaky breakfast-consuming star,” Arthur’s voice broke Merlin’s memory tour and brought him back to the candlelight warmth of the breakfast hall. King Arthur had just stepped over the threshold, looking as sleepy and wearing the mess of a hair that would have earned him exile under Uther’s reign. “I woke up and saw you were gone. You’ve scared me.”

Arthur approached him and ran his fingers through Merlin’s hair, sending waves of goosebumps down Merlin’s spine. _Why do his touches always do this to me?_ Before long, Arthur’s face was just opposite Merlin’s, and young warlock felt he was looking in the loving-blue eyes of his king, free as the blue of the summer sky.

“Kiss me,” Arthur asked. “And I shall forget that you’ve abandoned our bed without waking me up.”

“You’ve been snoring too musically, your grace. I dared not stop the melody.”

“I shall pretend I never heard that. Now kiss me. One quick morning kiss.”

Merlin kissed him, and his eyes shut involuntarily, as Arthur managed to capture Merlin’s lower lip and pull it slowly, as though to show he was unable to let Merlin’s lips go.

“You’ve been eating oranges,” Arthur remarked as he tried to steal some bacon from Merlin’s plate.  

_***_

The storm had been gone by midday, and the sky had cleared by sunset, which left a fire-stained kiss of red over the western horizon, the red that would be shimmering along the bay, as though reminding of the dragon’s wrath.

In the royal bedchamber, Arthur was pressing Merlin to the bedsheets. He didn’t want any distance this time, didn’t want to take Merlin from behind. He needed to cover Merlin’s body with his own, to feel Merlin’s heat with every inch of his skin, to look Merlin in the eyes, those eyes his warlock would give him once Arthur would try and make Merlin’s hole loosened enough to get his hardness inside it.

When Arthur slid inside, it was the vaguely remembered pressure of Merlin that instantly made him feel like home. Merlin’s pressure was all around Arthur’s cock. It was surrounding him.

“I’m inside you,” Arthur whispered, victory in every sound. “You feel good?”

“Goddess, Arthur, yes,” Merlin whispered, biting his lip and throwing his legs around Arthur’s hips to encourage his king to give it a go. “Don’t leave me.”

“It’s been too long, right?” Arthur grinned, letting Merlin feel the heat of his breath over his neck.

“Unfairly long.”

When Arthur made a first thrust, trying to claim some more space for his hardness, there was a slight resistance from the way Merlin’s hole was sealed around him, and it drove Arthur mad with lust. It was as though he needed to _win_ Merlin’s physical obedience, something he had taken for granted from other people – but never from Merlin. _Merlin’s not other people. He chooses_. _He submits when he sees me worthy to submit to._

When Arthur’s hips found the rhythm, Merlin’s helplessly pleasured breath was filling the room with every thrust Arthur made, and there was nothing, seemed nothing to be able to hold the king back as he’d try to slide deeper and deeper into Merlin, the speed making his head spin. Whenever he was close to pulling out, Merlin responded with this slight suction that’d make his hole seal around Arthur harder, as though pleading the king to never leave that hot and tight pulsing ass.

Merlin collapsed first, with a rain of his seed over his own chest and belly, and Arthur cursed as he felt Merlin’s hole squeezing his cock to provoke the prince to drive a few more thrusts and let his cock twitch and shoot seed deep inside Merlin. _Oh yes, deeper, and deeper._

“I can’t help myself whenever you finish,” Arthur said, letting himself press Merlin to the sheets, as their hearts were beating wildly to echo in each other’s chest. “Merlin, you’re so good it feels crazy. Absolutely crazy.”

If felt like a dream, like a prolonged endless sense of cosmic relief – now his head was not occupied by all the schemes he could use to keep his life or win some lords or territories to his side. Now he had Merlin. He could fuck Merlin because it felt so good and because Merlin seemed to be melting from pleasure whenever Arthur would make a new thrust.

He had taken him one more time before they fell asleep, their bedsheets ruined and the whole room filled with scents of seed and sweat and candle wax. Sleep had come easily to Arthur from the realization that Merlin was lying by his side, and it was ruined as easily when he realized Merlin was shaking him.

“Arthur?”

“Whtsgoingon?” Arthur muttered, forcing his eyelids to part.

“Arthur, I need you to go to some place with me.”

“What? You’re mad? It’s the black of the night!”

“Can I hear your knees shaking?”

That did manage to wake Arthur up. _What is he up to again?_

 “Merlin, have you not been completely open?”

“You mean in bed?” Merlin giggled. “I thought I was rather loosened.”

“No, you silly wanton creature,” Arthur laughed, raising on his elbows. “What do you want _now_?”

“That’s not a secret. I need to find something out,” Merlin said, and Arthur could read uncertainty on his warlock’s face.

“And where would you have us go?”

“To the labyrinth of Gedref.”

 ***

Their trip was enough to make Arthur understand why people in the castle were fancying sailing to Portstown rather than taking a horse and riding down the road that descended the steep slope after the Mainland Bridge. The horses literally had to walk down the road, otherwise they’d break their legs and fall and send both, Arthur and Merlin flying down the dusty path. All the stories about knights dying because of poorly fixed saddles seemed more than stories to Arthur when he was following Merlin down the road to Portstown.

After Portsown, the road would snake westward along the gentle grass-carpeted shore that would turn the stonier the further they rode, crossing villages, large and small. Night was thinning in the air, the breeze was salty and fresh and so wakening to his sleepy face, and Merlin would look back from time to time to throw a merry look at his king. They were two lads racing Goddess only knew where, led by destiny and love.

When the oddly familiar sight of the dark labyrinth appeared before his eyes, washed by the grey-blue sea, Arthur winced uncomfortable and felt his fingers grow cold as he was clinging to the bridles. They left the horses by the entrance, and when they approached the withered gate, Arthur felt Merlin’s hand in his.

“You’re scared?” Arthur asked nervously.

“Not really,” Merlin could actually use some more confidence. “I don’t think we can be harmed here. I want to hold your hand because… it may help.”

“Help what?”

“Would that I knew,” Merlin smiled, inviting Arthur to follow him into the labyrinth.

 _Something is different about this place. The darkness that seemed to haunt it the last time is gone_. Arthur couldn’t help but feel suspicious about it, but with Merlin’s hand in his own, being suspicious cost him more and more effort. Merlin’s presence seemed soothing, and his guidance – surprising; it would appear Merlin knew where they were going, as they made turn after turn, cutting through passages and dead ends.

“Look,” Merlin pointed, smiling.

They were nearing a stone table and benches, surrounded by withered lifeless hedges. _I’ve seen it. I’ve been to this place before._

“Merlin!” Arthur exclaimed, not able to control his excitement, shaking Merlin’s arm. “Merlin, that’s the garden where we met! In that dream! Remember?! With flowers and rainbows and…. Wait, why is it… What happened to this place?”

Merlin turned around to face his king, with a proud and happy look in his sky-mirroring eyes.

“I think we can do something about it, if what I suspect is true. Will you kiss me?”

“Kiss you?”

“Yes. Here. Now.”

Arthur didn’t know what he was doing, but he didn’t need to be invited twice; his trust to Merlin had grown so much he could follow Merlin anywhere. He grabbed Merlin in his arms and lifted him into the air and let their lips join, be one, become two sides of some unity, two shades of the same color, two sides of one coin.

The gust of wind that raced through the labyrinth nearly made them lose their balance, and they had to cover their faces from the whirlwind of dust and withered leaves that were flying everywhere, and then…

Suddenly, the withered hedges were coming back to life; greenery was returning to the labyrinth of Gedref, step after step, shade after shade. Flowers were appearing everywhere, of all shapes and colours, and soon the wall-hedges turned into a storm of red, blue, violet, green and yellow.

“Merlin? What does it all mean?! I just kissed you, why does it… What does it mean?”

“It means that I have been stuck with your royal arse for longer than _one_ lifetime,” Merlin said, smiling and jumping back into Arthur’s arms.

Dawn slashed through the eastern sky, dressing the labyrinth of Gedref in a gown of blissful glow. Blue-grey sea was foaming behind their backs, and the new sunrise cast most of the stars off the morning sky, except for one: the guiding star was flickering to the north, its beams reflected in the calm watersheets of the Merchant’s Bay.

 

_.... to be continued in "The Fire Striker"...._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is it for "The Guiding Star"! <3 
> 
> I actually really can't believe my fingers are typing this now. This has been such a blissful writing for me, and I for some odd reason find myself in little tears as it is now officially over ! :D Saying goodbye sucks, I guess :( 
> 
> Anyway, I want to first of all express gratitude to the ao3 team. I couldn't ask for a better place to publish a fic, thank you guys so much, it's absolutely wonderful! :*****
> 
> I also owe a great debt to @versaphile, for it's her maps of Camelot I am using to construct the geography and political landscape of this fic, so hundred thanks go to her :) 
> 
> Now here comes my special squad of readers who were leaving comments that would brighten my days and inspire me to write every day. Amber arrives first, my little reading star, thank you so much for making me feel like this fic has won a special place in your heart ;) @spaceyloser, @MerlinsBeard, @MerthurIsCanon, @samo2027, @Tensai55, the ever watchful @blue_analytic, @Lucy and @RedPaprika ! Thank you for following, that was so rewarding to have readers like you, I can't put it into words. 
> 
> There is an Afterword to be published some time soon. 
> 
> The adventures of Merlin, Arthur, Gwen and Morgana will continue in "The Fire Striker", to be published this fall. I shall post the link in next chapter, so that you can either bookmark or subscribe for your own convenience. 
> 
> I will miss you greatly, as I will miss Merlin and Arthur. I wish you all a great summer! 
> 
> P.S. You can always contact me via e-mail: abyssofdiamonds@gmail.com 
> 
> and track "The Fire Striker" progress on twitter: twitter.com/diamond_abyss
> 
> needless to say, if any of you run some Merlin/Merthur themed blogs, I will be grateful for a link to "The Guiding Star" <3
> 
> Edit: I've chosen not to add epilogue to "The Guiding Star". I just love this ending so much I don't want to ruin it with darkly tones of Cynric and worried tones of Iseldir. For some time, I want Arthur and Merlin to be carefree and happy together. I've chosen to move these Cynric and Iseldir pieces to "The Fire Striker" prologue. ;)


	83. The Fire Striker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the link for the third fic from the series!

[**The Fire Striker**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624940) (61 words) by [**DiamondAbyss**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondAbyss)  
Chapters: 1/83  
Fandom: [Merlin (TV)](https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Merlin%20\(TV\))  
Rating: Explicit  
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence  
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwaine/Gwen (Merlin), Gwen/Gwaine/Lancelot (Merlin), Gwaine/Morgana (Merlin)  
Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen (Merlin), Gwaine (Merlin), Morgana (Merlin), Morgause (Merlin), Gaius (Merlin), Leon (Merlin), Lancelot (Merlin), Yrien, Rion, Lord Gloss, Lord Chefyl, Young Chefyl, Anna Dindrane, Tawton Dindrane, Safir Gaheris, Vyda Gaheris, Nentres Gaheris, Princess Mithian, King Rodor, King Godwyn, Princess Elena, King Sarrum, Owaine, Modron - Character, Lord Bors Pellinore, Lord Sei, Lord Rysor, Lady Lludwig, Kilgharrah (Merlin)  
Additional Tags: Camelot Civil War, Idiots in Love, two sides of the same coin  
Series: Part 3 of [King, Prince and Priestess](https://archiveofourown.org/series/874539)  
Summary:

Summer seems almost gone as the winds of war are biting Camelot, tearing the once-mighty land into pieces, large and small. 

Morgana returns to the castle of Camelot, planning to use her forthcoming marriage to King Rion of House Gingawaine to lift the ban on magic, but she is failing to win the loyalty of the court and knights alike, and Gwen seems her only friend. Meanwhile, the army of the kingdom's western territories is marching on the castle of Camelot to avenge the death of Sir Vidor, threatening to put an end to House Gingawaine once and for all. 

Arthur and Merlin have finally reunited at the castle of Gedref, where Arthur wears his crown, and they try to savor every bit of love after the Battle of the Merchant's Bay. However, their honeymoon will be a short one, for Arthur must soon make a tough choice. Will he pick a side in the civil war that threatens to undo Camelot, or will he rely on fire and blood to unite the whole realm under his reign? 

Sequel to "The Great Design" and "The Guiding Star" fics


	84. Appendix 2: Rough Map of Camelot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Here's the map with some of the places from the fic marked and listed!

 

 

1 - The castle of Camelot

2 - The castle of Brechfa

3 - Portstown and the castle of Gedref

4 - the castle of Nemeton and Mountville

5 - the castle of Asgorath

6 - the castle of Daobeth

7 - the castle of Denaria

8 - the castle of Ascetir

9 - the castle of Idirsholas

***

10 - the castle of Woodspeak, sworn to the castle Brechfa

11 - the castle of Chemary, sworn to the castle of Brechfa

12 - the castle of Wheelskirt, sworn to the castle of Asgorath

13 - Lydon, the capital of the kingdom of Nemeth

14 - Londinium, the capital of Tir-Mor

15 - Lindum, the capital of Mercia

16 - the capital of Essetir

17 - Inkwave, the capital of Gawant

18 - the castle of Fisher King

19 - the capital of Gwynedd

20 - Stoneroad, a city on the border between Nemeton and Nemeth

21 - Burnwood, a city in Gedref

22 - Breninwall, a city in Gedref

23 - Doomspath, a city in Gedref

24 - Seagate, a port in Deorham from where Arthur and Mithian sailed to Gedref

25 - Ealdor

***

26 - River Albus in Andor

27 - River Gethwick in Nemeton

28 - River Fulgeo in Brechfa

29 - River Sabrina in Denaria and Gedref

30 - Darkpine, a city in the kingdom of Nemeth

31 - Irios, a port-city in the kingdom of Nemeth

32 - Jarl's Fortress

 

thin red roads are the roads built during the age of Romans; 

thicker pink roads are the roads built by King Uther and the crown's finances; 

yellow roads are the roads constructed and funded by local authorities. 


	85. Afterword

I took some time to write this afterword because I wanted to take a look at “The Guiding Star” after a week or so following the publishing the last chapter. I don’t know if it’s weird or not, but for some reasons, it feels like ages since the last time I published the updates and I swear it often seems to me throughout my days that something has gone amiss and then I remember that there are no more chapters left for “The Guiding Star” and that I haven’t forgotten to put them out :D

Anyway, let us go straight to the afterword now. After “The Great Design” ended on such a note that it became clear Arthur and Merlin would have to part for some time, I wanted to write “The Guiding Star” so that the text itself would serve as a portrayal of how unbearably tough and struggling it is for two loving hearts to be apart (even for two weeks), especially when there is literally no way to get any news about each other.

Therefore, I wanted the text to be long, I wanted the readers to experience the slowness of time for Merlin and Arthur, how their parting would stretch and stretch and stretch for chapters and thousands and hundreds of thousands of words, so that their reunion would seem sweet and long-overdue and _fucking finally_ in the end. Hopefully, that worked.

 _Composition_  

Now, there is a notable change in the structure of the text in "The Guiding Star". In “The Great Design” I used to name volumes after characters (Merlin, Gwen, Merlin and Arthur). In “The Guiding Star”, I switched to a different approach which saw naming volumes based on some theme-plot motives that would emerge and re-emerge throughout the included chapters.

So, Volume I was called “The Old Ways”. Shockingly, it was about the revival of the old traditions and wounds and patterns and political structures and societies and relationships in the wake of the news of Uther’s death finally spreading all over the kingdom and reaching even the farthest corners of Albion.

Under closer inspection, it’s easy to distinguish the reoccurring themes that glue this volume together. The major ones are night, darkness and dreams.

Morgana’s line starts as she spends her recovery time in the crystal cave, tended by Morgause, and she leaves her shelter at nighttime. The triskelion gathering also happens at sunset, with fires burning in the forest night, and Morgana’s line in Volume I ends with her falling _asleep_ again in the chapter “Matters of Blood” (QUOTE [ _there remained one last thing on her mind, the question that had to be posed, for otherwise, she would never know the peaceful sleep_ ] QUOTE).

Merlin’s adventures also begin as Northern Ascetir is swallowed by night, when he and Gwaine save Pliny and Bo from Jarl’s slavemakers. That night, Merlin sees dreams about Darian and Reginald for the very first time, and the content of those dream preoccupies his mind for the rest of the next day. To underline this night/darkness/dreams theme, I called the chapter where Merlin meets Morgana “Dread of his nightmares”. Merlin’s arrival at new Camelot also happens beneath the veil of darkness and ends with QUOTE[ _Merlin fell asleep easily and innocently, and for one brisk moment when his thoughts were caught somewhere between the fabrics of reality and the dream-world, he felt safe and secure in the place which used to be his home, and the sunstone was pulsing on his chest_ ]QUOTE 

Needless to say, Merlin’s intrusion into the Western Tower also happens at night, and his brief reunion with Gaius belongs with the nighttime as well. I want to point at this interesting comparison between Merlin and Morgana: Merlin, even though his powers are being sucked out by the sunstone and his mind ever disturbed by his worries over Arthur, manages to somehow grasp that sense of safety and security when he falls asleep in the Southern Village which is ruled by rather hostile Ryence and is infested with his guards. Morgana falls asleep in the camp of druids, surrounded by people who either practice magic or do not hold anything against magic, she is protected by the sudden magic power of river Albus, she is watched over by her sister, and **_yet she can’t feel safe_** – she keeps asking Morgause about Merlin, fearing him and dreading his appearance at the camp of druids.

Now, Gwen, our dear Gwen, she went through hell in the first volume. Hers was the darkness, the painful, tormenting darkness of Yrien’s cells, who believed that Gwen knew too much and could be used by Gaius in the physician’s court games. Seeing her suffer so much could break my heart, but then again, Gaius did warn her the day Uther died that _“she had been used in the game of a far greater scale than she could possibly comprehend_ ”. Gwen’s line in volume I went from darkness in “Promised Doom” to dreams in “Good and Evil”, when she was recovering from Ratcatch’s treatment in Ygraine’s bedchamber.

Every night ends with sunrise, and dreams are gone when we awaken, and so I wanted to achieve this awakening by the end of Volume I. I wanted the characters to get a better, clearer picture of what was going on. Morgana realized there was a whole druid uprising led by leaders of three major tribes and Alvarr (sponsored by Anna Dindrane, by the way), and she fell asleep realizing she had found a way to contribute to the fight for magic’s legal recognition. Merlin gathered some knowledge from Gaius that could be used to explain the reasons behind the coup (even though Gaius’s guesswork was pretty much wrong or rather incomplete), and he learned of the only one who could help him solve the sunstone and moonstone riddle – Kilgharrah. Gwen told Merlin about the part she had played in Uther’s death and the distance between them became a little wider (Gwen already felt sore about the fact that Merlin knew about Morgana’s magic while Gwen herself did not).

Volume II THE SHADOWS

When night ends, there will be shadows for some time before the sun begins to sing its song. After telling the story through the eyes of our three dear characters, I decided to switch to Ryence POV in Volume II. See, volume I was a step away from the court themes: we really had little understanding about what was going on in the Gingawaines family and between the crown and the Westerners. They all – Morgana, Merlin, Gwen – were trying to guess something about Ryence and all the Gingawaines, about their behavior and their motives and, most importantly, about their plans in Volume I, so in Volume II, I decided to invite the readers into Ryence POV to let us all see if Merlin, Gaius, Morgana or Gwen had been right about Ryence.

Ryence’s chapters are “Pressing Matters”, “Herald of the New Age”, “Old Races” and “Fealties and Foes”. In “Pressing Matters”, we see how Ryence’s solidity about wearing the crown is pretty much an illusion: the Western territories of Camelot are constantly on his mind, and he fears Vyda’s possible rebellion or separatism, and has to rely on Lord Cynric – who, as Ryence believes, is the real puppeteer behind the Westerners being late with sending their seals of allegiance. Moreover, Cynric shares his doubts about Arthur: the Treasurer firmly believes Arthur has acquired a sort of magical protection, and it doesn’t make things any easier for Ryence. 

In “Herald of the New Age”, we see Ryence return to the castle of Camelot after his brief military mission to Brechfa, and there he is awaited by a dreadfully numerous members of the court, which was described thoroughly to underline that Ryence, even though with a crown upon his head, was but one noble man among many, and that all those nobles at court had their own interests (like Vyda Gaheris, who wanted her younger son to be awarded the lordship of Asgarath in exchange for sending her seals of allegiance to Ryence). Notice what Ryence says about Sir Vidor: QUOTE [ _I’ve just seen Vidor among the court. He takes after Uther so much he gave me chills. For a moment I thought young Uther was standing there to avenge me._ ] QUOTE

Oh, Ryence, avenge he did.

In “Old Races” we see how ruling turns into more of a compromise between various fractions seeking power when Ryence talks to Anna Dindrane in his tourney lodge, trying to persuade the granddaughter of the last druid queen to become the royal envoy and hold peace talks with rebelling druids. Ryence also learns about a new alliance being made as his secretary, Lord Sagramore, is planning to marry his daughter to Sir Vidor, grandson of Vyda Gaheris. 

Finally, in “Fealties and Foes”, Ryence is overrun with this bloody stress and loses his patience when he learns that the seals from the Western territories have arrived. He is supposed to be happy and relieved, when in fact he shouts at Lord Sagramore and demands to explain why Sagramore has learnt about the seals before the king. Ryence’s line ends with the king refusing the proposition to use Vyda Gaheris army to attack Essetir and declare war on Cenred, which showcases that Ryence had not come to power for the sake of territorial grabs and gains. His ambitions lie in the tax reform which he hopes to see come true one day: he wants to execute a different vision about the way the crown collects taxes from her territories and then redistributes them. In simple words, he wants the territories to have more financial autonomy, pretty much because Ryence had grown up in the days of Five Kingdoms. 

Morgana’s presence in Volume II is of crucial importance because we see her visions and values regarding power express themselves. Apart from Ryence, she is the only character in Volume II whose storyline is so much connected with power and strategy. We see that Morgana doesn’t protest the plan to assassinate Sir Vidor in the castle of Camelot to prevent the crown from building a strong alliance with the western territories of Camelot – because she remembers that Vidor was among those men who raided the druid camp when Uther sent men searching for her.

During her “duel” with Alvarr, she emerges as someone who will always fight to win what she thinks belongs to her (she thought she had the right to go to Idirsholas even though Alvarr kept saying Morgause would not approve). In Idirsholas, her wrath caused by announcement that Camelot guards would take her back to the castle allows Alvarr to slaughter the whole patrol, and she spares the last surviving lad – but not out of mercy, she thinks that he can be useful in the fight against Uther. To support the uprising, she is ready for any adventures that will come her way, even to go to Essetir and persuade the clans to donate their food before the harvest season, when their storages are sure to be low.

What I wanted to stress here for Morgana is that she doesn’t lack passion or courage, but she is still far from critical thinking. She had embraced the black-and-white picture where Uther and knights were the bad guys, and the druids were the good guys, while the reality is a lot more complicated than that. But I don't judge her. I blame the fact that she had been suppressed for YEARS and YEARS in the castle of Camelot mentally, protocol-wise and by those awful sleeping potions, and now that she had so unexpectedly burst free from Uther’s and his court’s clutches, all the repressed passion and initiative is pouring from her uncontrollably.

Merlin’s agenda in Volume II was all about somehow solving the sunstone riddle, and by doing so, he learns the legend of Dragonlord and Priestess, which helps him understand the enmity between the Westerners and the druids/castle of Camelot. Really enjoyed writing all those chapters with Lancelot, for Lancelot will return in “The Fire Striker”! My most cherished moment from Volume II is Arthur and Merlin meeting in the dreamworld, of course, it felt so blissful to write I can’t begin to tell you! Back then, it felt as though the whole fic had been invented for the sake of Arthur and Merlin meeting in the dreamworld and being overwhelmed with love and sympathy for each other! (after shouting and angst, of course) <3 I used their meeting to re-energize Merlin, to give him strength to continue his quest into the Perilous Land. And his meeting with the Fisher King was nearly canon :0

Gwen, too, was busy having an ordinary life for the first time in ages: going to the tourney with Gwaine, who seemed to attentive and caring, selling Morgana’s dresses, trying to find a new job, in other words, leading her life outside the realm of plotting with young lordlings and pouring poison into the cups of kings. Everything changed when Uther chose to remind of himself in the shape of a ghost, though, but thanks to Gaius and Meridoc salt Gwen and Gwaine stayed safe. 

Uther’s ghost which came to haunt the castle of Camelot and to serve vengeance to everybody who was involved into his murder was meant to be something sudden, for when the ghost was spotted, we knew nothing about the Cailleach and her relationship with Arthur. Ryence’s death following the attack of Uther’s ghost in the end of Volume II is the point of no return in the fic, the major plot twist, and served as a moment for me to take a short break and switch my attention to the only character who had been left out of spotlight: Arthur.

Volume III PRINCE AT HEART

Fun fact: I wrote most Arthur’s chapters back in December, so revisiting them after publishing two volumes was so cool!

I don’t even know where to start, but I will try nonetheless. So, there were three main themes to track in volume III:

  * Arthur’s perception of Merlin;
  * Arthur’s perception of his father;
  * Arthur’s determination to win his throne back.



So I guess we shall examine them one by one, right?

 

  1. There are so many thoughts about Merlin traveling in Arthur’s head in the chapter “On the road”. He asks Gwaine to look after Merlin and not let any harm come to him, and goes on to say how Merlin only seems thin and lean and weak, while in fact he has a brave heart and can be tempted by great follies. Yet when he comes to talk to Merlin face to face, we see that Arthur’s emotional range is somewhat limited. The first test for their relationship occurs when Arthur finds the truth about sunstone and moonstone after Lamia’s attack, and he is howling from a sense of miserable helplessness and betrayal: QUOTE [ _He fooled me. Fooled me again, he lied to me after lying for all the time before we… What right does he have to throw himself mindlessly in danger for me? To stake his life for mine without my leave? Does he imagine how terrible it is to know that people you loved sacrificed their life for you? No, he doesn’t, because he doesn’t think, he never thinks, he only acts on feelings, he…_ ] QUOTE From that moment on, Arthur keeps wondering why Merlin had chosen to keep the truth about sunstone away from him, even though he had decided to come out as a warlock. Yet when he arrives at the castle of Nemeton, it is only Merlin’s safety that matters to Arthur, and he falls asleep with Merlin’s name on his lips, clinging to moonstone on his chest. When Arthur is denied immediate assistance form Nemeton’s lords, he gets drunk during the feast thrown in Modron’s name and keeps telling Owaine things about Merlin. After the Cailleach tried to drag Arthur into the spirit world using Uther’s ghost, Arthur sort of hits the emotional bottom and is on the verge of despair when he finally meets Merlin in the dreamworld, where they mostly sort all their issues. From the chapter “Foreign Land”, Arthur seems as nervous about Merlin as ever, but he thinks there are no more secrets to unravel between them, and thus feels a little happier and more concentrated on his quest for throne. Arthur’s storyline in Volume III ends with a choice: he can marry princess Mithian and acquire a wealthy army to win his throne, but Arthur refuses it all for the sake of his Merlin <3
  2. Uther is constantly on his mind. Since Arthur couldn’t mourn and pay respects to his father because of the extreme nature of circumstances, Arthur’s grief is manifested in the desire to serve revenge to King Ryence for the unworthy act of cowardice. However, the more Arthur gets to think about his father’s policy, the more he begins to understand that Uther’s kingship was not as glorious as many people would have him believe, and the meeting with Uther’s ghost – which did mimic the “Death Song of Uther Pendragon” from the original series – served as the point of break-up with the idealized image of his father, the moment after which Arthur acquired the gift to speak critically of his father’s crown without blackening the memory of Uther the human in his head.
  3. As for the court struggles, well… Arthur had a plan, didn’t he? To go to Nemeton and then to Nemeth and win Lord Pellinore and King Rodor to his side. I wanted to show that plans are important, but the real things often deviate from the plan in the matters of power, for all the other figures in the game belong with their own realms of pursuits, gains and fears, and their reaction can often be the least expected of all (like when King Rodor decided to sell Arthur to Odin of Cornwall).



 

In terms of chronology, Volume III synced Arthur’s storyline with the rest of the story, and all the characters and events got concentrated around the time of Ryence’s death. Camelot still seems like a single kingdom, but we see how Arthur’s cause is meant to undo this unity and how the kingdom is bound to be divided when Arthur reaches Gedref. 

Morgana’s presence in Volume III was intentional as well. I wanted to stress her similarity with her half-brother: like Arthur, Morgana, too, is seeking power in Volume III, but whilst Arthur’s path takes him through nobles and courts, Morgana seeks connection with common people, and relies on her charismatic leadership rather than on the concept of her “birthright” when she tries to persuade the Essetir clans of druids.

 

VOLUME IV KINGDOMS AND COURTS

It was hands down my favorite part of the fic, because it was the first volume when all the POV characters were present at the same time. Yrien, Arthur, Morgana, Merlin and Gwen were all contributing to the narration within one volume for the first time, and to me it seemed the most dynamic volume of them all.

I was most excited to introduce Yrien’s storyline. Lady Yrien had been somehow in the plot since the middle of “The Great Design”, and we had had the chance to observe her behavior through Gwen’s and Ryence’s POV. To say the least, Yrien did seem like a bit more tempered character than her brother, right? And Ryence had thought a couple of times that Yrien’s reign, if ever occurred, would end with bloodshed.

 Yrien’s anger is overflowing her when she learns that Ryence had died from the hand of Uther’s ghost. Yet it seems that she is trying her best to somehow control her impulses: she does sentence the few Ryence’s guards who saw the ghost to death, for since she wants to blame Ryence’s death on Arthur’s wraith, she needs no witnesses who can question her version of events. The very same night she pays visits to Tawton Dindrane and Lord Sagramore, Ryence’s secretary, and makes her positions clear. She demands that Anna Dindrane (a.k.a. Old Bat) returns from her negotiations with druid rebels, and of Sagramore she [… _shall require documents. It is your duty as a Secretary to proclaim Rion the new king, and me - the Queen Regent_.]

Sending Rion away from the castle of Camelot is the first thing on her mind, and this theme will occur again and again as Yrien is bombarded with the heavy news that reach her court: Gedref declaring for Arthur, druids offering her an alliance through the marriage between Lady Morgana and Rion, and Sir Vidor being assassinated during his own betrothal feast. All these events seem to undermine Yrien’s power, and the second major theme in her narration is her desire to restore her power to the limits when she will be able to stand firmly on her own without depending too much on her court allies or druids in the fight against Vyda Gaheris.

Arthur’s line in Volume IV was meant to describe his growing impatience of finally meeting Merlin as he sails to the castle of Gedref, and it also sees some exchange between Arthur and Mithian and so that we can see some Mithian’s background.

Merlin’s meeting with Morgause was a tribute to the original series, and it was the liberating moment when Merlin finally did everything he was supposed to and was free to fly off and see Arthur in Gedref, stopping in the Crystal Cave on the way.

Morgana’s storyline in Volume IV, apart from showcasing her fierceness and devotion to the magic cause, lays the basement for “The Fire Striker” story arch: pay attention to her visions and prophecies and to her relationship with Iseldir, and to her ideas about Mordred. The most important thing to happen to Morgana in Volume IV, though, is her battling out of Morgause’s authority and choosing Alvarr over the proposed marriage to Rion.

Volume V THE LAST DRAGONLORD

“The Last Dragonlord” was a transition to “The Fire Striker” setting, to the former seat of Seaside Kings and Queens in the castle of Gedref and Portstown. We got to see some of the lords and ladies of this territory, learn bits of their history (there is more to come), but ultimately it was all about the final moments before Arthur’s and Merlin’s reunion! 

The end of the fic was devastating for Morgana, I know, and it pains me to see her suffer so much, but I can do nothing to help her when Morgause is such a terrible force behind her back. Hopefully, things will change for Morgana in “The Fire Striker”.

I wanted to point at this opposition between Arthur and Morgana: for most part of the fic, Arthur was acting according to circumstances, and his actions were largely determined by the events and environment, whilst Morgana was more pro-active in the pursuit of her goals. At the close of the fic, Arthur finally becomes the pro-active king (even under the siege, he finds the strength to lift the ban on magic), while Morgana’s agreement to forge a formal marriage with Rion puts her into new circumstances where her behavior is bound to be more of a reactionary rather than pro-active.

Gwen’s and Gwaine’s decision to stay in Camelot with Gaius is going to affect their lines so much! ‘Cause in “The Fire Striker”, we shall have Yrien, Morgana, Rion, the Dindranes, Gaius, Gwen and Gwaine all in one castle!!! This is going to be insane!

Some statistic for you:

In Volume I, Merlin has 10 chapters, Morgana has 5 chapters and Gwen has 3 chapters.

 In Volume II, Merlin has 5 chapters, Morgana has 3 chapters, Gwen has 5 chapters and Ryence has 4 chapters.

 In Volume III, Arthur has 10 chapters and Morgana has 3 chapters.

 In Volume IV, Merlin has 3 chapters, Morgana has 4 chapters, Gwen has 2 chapters, Arthur has 2 chapters and Yrien has 4 chapters.

 In Volume V, Melrin has 2,5 chapters, Morgana has 3 chapters, Gwen has 1 chapter, Arthur has 6,5 chapters and Yrien has 2 chapters.

 

Morgana is the only character who is present in all 5 volumes : )

I wish you all a splendid summer! Feel free to contact me abyssofdiamonds@gmail.com if you have any questions, and thank you so much for spreading word of this fic <3

 

P.S. For updates on "The Fire Striker", please check:

 

 twitter.com/diamond_abyss


	86. The Fire Striker

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The follow-up to "The Guiding Star" is now being published :)

Please know that the follow-up to "The Guiding Star" is now ready for publishing! "The Fire Striker" chapters are released weekly (Wednesday or Thursday) on ao3, feel free to read about the further adventures of Merlin, Arthur, Gwen and Morgana here:

 

[ **The Fire Striker**](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14624940) (15645 words) by [**DiamondAbyss**](https://archiveofourown.org/users/DiamondAbyss)  
Chapters: 7/83  
Fandom: [Merlin (TV)](https://archiveofourown.org/tags/Merlin%20\(TV\))  
Rating: Explicit  
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence  
Relationships: Merlin/Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwaine/Gwen (Merlin), Gwen/Gwaine/Lancelot (Merlin), Gwaine/Morgana (Merlin)  
Characters: Merlin (Merlin), Arthur Pendragon (Merlin), Gwen (Merlin), Gwaine (Merlin), Morgana (Merlin), Morgause (Merlin), Gaius (Merlin), Leon (Merlin), Lancelot (Merlin), Yrien, Rion, Lord Gloss, Lord Chefyl, Young Chefyl, Anna Dindrane, Tawton Dindrane, Safir Gaheris, Vyda Gaheris, Nentres Gaheris, Princess Mithian, King Rodor, King Godwyn, Princess Elena, King Sarrum, Owaine, Modron - Character, Lord Bors Pellinore, Lord Sei, Lord Rysor, Lady Lludwig, Kilgharrah (Merlin)  
Additional Tags: Camelot Civil War, Idiots in Love, two sides of the same coin  
Series: Part 3 of [King, Prince and Priestess](https://archiveofourown.org/series/874539)  
Summary:

Summer seems almost gone as the winds of war are biting Camelot, tearing the once-mighty land into pieces, large and small. 

Morgana returns to the castle of Camelot, planning to use her forthcoming marriage to King Rion of House Gingawaine to lift the ban on magic, but she is failing to win the loyalty of the court and knights alike, and Gwen seems her only friend. Meanwhile, the army of the kingdom's western territories is marching on the castle of Camelot to avenge the death of Sir Vidor, threatening to put an end to House Gingawaine once and for all. 

Arthur and Merlin have finally reunited at the castle of Gedref, where Arthur wears his crown, and they try to savor every bit of love after the Battle of the Merchant's Bay. However, their honeymoon will be a short one, for Arthur must soon make a tough choice. Will he pick a side in the civil war that threatens to undo Camelot, or will he rely on fire and blood to unite the whole realm under his reign? 

Sequel to "The Great Design" and "The Guiding Star" fics

<3


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